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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513338">Unlooked For</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen'>Eledhwen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Gen, Legal Drama, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, What-If</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:16:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Foggy finds the light switch, flicks it on and turns back around, to study his potential client more closely. He sees a man in black, one sleeve of the long-sleeved top ripped and bound roughly with a bandage. He looks fit, and weary, and his eyes are unfocused and directed roughly over Foggy’s left shoulder.</i>
</p><p>Foggy Nelson is successful, happy and comfortably ensconced in a good job - so why has he agreed to defend a blind vigilante he doesn't even know?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was inspired by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus">ceterisparibus</a>, who wrote in her fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323864/chapters/43375760"> You Are My Strength</a>:</p><p>  <i>“Matt,” Foggy said slowly. “You don’t need to thank me for being your friend.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Do you realize,” Matt said quietly, “what I would’ve been like if you hadn’t?”</i></p><p>That spawned a very slowly growing plot bunny. Fair warning, this thing is a WIP, but I've written three chapters so I'm hoping progress will continue. Please forgive any errors when it comes to NY criminal law, as my knowledge amounts to what Google searches will tell me! Timeline is roughly DD S1, emphasis on 'roughly', but with the caveat that we all know the canon timelines with regard to when Matt and Foggy were at law school and when they set up Nelson &amp; Murdock make no sense whatsoever.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a bright spring day in New York, and Foggy feels full of its joys. He and Marci have walked to work down through the park, grabbed a coffee, talked about summer vacation plans. She has a complicated, high-value divorce on; he is advising a client on the purchase of a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Life at Hogarth, Chao &amp; Benowitz is good, and both of them know it. There’s the prospect of a chunky bonus at the end of the year, perhaps promotion to junior partner.</p><p>He settles down at his desk, reads and replies to his emails, and then pulls the file on the penthouse towards him and begins going through it, meticulously, line-by-line.</p><p>The ringing of his phone startles him, and he marks where he’s got to and picks it up.</p><p>“Nelson.” It’s a voice from the past, a voice Foggy hasn’t heard for a good couple of years.</p><p>“Brett Mahoney?” he says. “How are you? Mom said you’d made sergeant.”</p><p>“My mom said you’d sold out,” Mahoney says, although there is no judgement in his voice. “I’m calling to see if that’s true.”</p><p>Foggy swings his chair around and looks out at the view of Sixth Avenue below him.</p><p>“Depends what you mean by sold out,” he says. “I’ve picked a career, that’s all. How can I help?”</p><p>“Got a client for you,” Mahoney replies.</p><p>“I don’t do criminal defence,” Foggy counters. “Not usually, anyhow.”</p><p>“Make this an exception,” Mahoney says. “He’s a Hell’s Kitchen boy. Well, he’s a man, but he was a Hell’s Kitchen boy. He needs a Hell’s Kitchen attorney. And he went to Columbia, like you.”</p><p>Foggy thinks back to school. “I don’t remember anyone else from the Kitchen at Columbia.”</p><p>“He never graduated,” Mahoney explains. “But he needs someone decent.”</p><p>“What’s he done?” Foggy asks, swinging round back to his desk and looking down at the property deeds.</p><p>Mahoney coughs. “He’s, um – well, we think he’s Daredevil.”</p><p>Foggy processes. “The vigilante? The one who’s been beating people up left right and centre?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And you want me to defend him?” Foggy persists. “What the hell, Brett?”</p><p>“Just come to the precinct,” Mahoney says. “The public defender is useless, and … well, you’ll see when you get here.”</p><p>Foggy sighs, and closes the property file. “If Jeri Hogarth fires me over this, I’m blaming you,” he says, and hangs up.</p><p>Brett Mahoney meets him when he arrives at the 15th Precinct. They eye each other for a moment – they’ve had a long and tumultuous relationship, beginning when Foggy pushed Mahoney off a swing aged three, and settling into something akin to friendship on the last day of high school when they had got drunk together – and then Foggy gives in, and claps Mahoney on the back.</p><p>“Good to see you, sergeant,” he says, with a grin.</p><p>“Counsellor,” returns Mahoney. “Look, thanks for coming, Fogs. I couldn’t think who else to call.”</p><p>Following him down a corridor, Foggy says, “I still don’t get why you care that the guy gets representation. He’s put cops in hospital, for Christ’s sakes. Allegedly.”</p><p>Mahoney shrugs. “And criminals in hospital too. But … just talk to him, to start with, yeah?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Mahoney unlocks the interview room door and lets Foggy go in, closing it behind him.</p><p>The room is dim, and Foggy has to blink once or twice before his eyes adjust. The man behind the metal table is half-slumped back in his seat, but he moves as Foggy enters and his handcuffs clank against the table.</p><p>“Mind if I turn on the light?” Foggy asks, and the other shrugs.</p><p>“If you want,” he says, voice low and a little husky. “Makes no difference to me.”</p><p>Foggy finds the light switch, flicks it on and turns back around, to study his potential client more closely. He sees a man in black, one sleeve of the long-sleeved top ripped and bound roughly with a bandage. He looks fit, and weary, and his eyes are unfocused and directed roughly over Foggy’s left shoulder.</p><p>“Oh,” says Foggy, stupidly, and then he recovers. “My name’s Foggy Nelson. I’m an attorney. Detective Mahoney said you might need representation.”</p><p>“Foggy?” asks the man, with a slight quirk of his lips.</p><p>“It’s what people call me,” Foggy says.</p><p>“Matt Murdock,” says his possible client.</p><p>Something in Foggy’s brain connects. “Not the kid who saved that guy from the truck, back in grade 3?” he asks. “It was all anyone talked about for a week.”</p><p>Matt Murdock grimaces. “Yeah.”</p><p>Foggy bites down the urge to say “wow”, because looking at Murdock, he’s pretty sure it won’t go down well. Instead, he pulls out the chair on the other side of the metal table and sits down, opening the file Mahoney gave him and looking at its contents.</p><p>It’s a pretty long list of charges, predominantly first-degree assault, and reading them makes Foggy’s stomach roil a little. He looks up again, at the blind gaze of the other man.</p><p>“I’m not going to lie,” he says, “this doesn’t look good. Mahoney says they think you’re Daredevil, and there’s plenty of video evidence out there showing Daredevil doing his stuff.”</p><p>“So I’ve heard,” says Murdock.</p><p>“But, you’re …” Foggy waves a hand, and instantly realises this is a gesture lost on Murdock, “blind.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed.”</p><p>Digging a pen out of his suit pocket, Foggy prepares to back up. “Yet you’re not sitting here protesting your innocence, Mr Murdock. Most people in your situation would.”</p><p>Murdock sighs. “To be honest, Mr Nelson, I don’t know if I have the energy.” And he does look tired, with rings around his eyes and a bruise on his cheek.</p><p>Foggy makes a decision. “Mr Murdock, I will take your case, if you’ll have me as your lawyer. Whether or not you plead guilty, everyone deserves representation.”</p><p>“Why do you want to take it?” Murdock asks. “Why take me on?”</p><p>“Us Hell’s Kitchen kids should stick together,” Foggy says, “and if I’m honest, I’m bored of defending Wall Street bankers against speeding fines.”</p><p>“I can’t pay you much,” Murdock says.</p><p>Thinking of the savings in his own accounts, Foggy shrugs, and says, “that’s okay. Let’s discuss what you can afford later. The bankers pay well.” He uncaps the pen and opens his notepad to a clean page. “Right, now that you’re my client, everything you say is covered by confidentiality. You’ll be arraigned tomorrow. How do you want to plead?”</p><p>“Not guilty,” Murdock says.</p><p>“Okay,” says Foggy. “Fine. “So you get arraigned, and detained, because they’re not going to let you out on bail, though we can try pleading disability. We go to trial, you still plead not guilty.”</p><p>“I was defending others,” Murdock says.</p><p>Foggy writes this down, and pushes his hair off his face.</p><p>“Defending others?” he asks.</p><p>“I can’t deny being at the scenes,” Murdock explains, “or that I am Daredevil. There’s too much evidence. By now they’ll have DNA collected, and there’s those videos you mentioned. But I’m there because I have to be there. I’m there because it’s the only thing shutting everything out.” His blank eyes seem to bore into Foggy’s as he lifts his head. “I’m there because the Kitchen needs me.”</p><p>“I feel like we need to wind this back,” Foggy says. “How do you know people need your help, when you go and help them? If beating up criminals counts as helping them.”</p><p>“If you’re going to represent me,” says Murdock, coldly, “you need to take me seriously, Mr Nelson.”</p><p>“I’m taking you very seriously,” Foggy hastens to confirm. “I’ve seen the rap sheet. I just … well, I don’t get what you mean.”</p><p>Murdock shifts in his seat, the handcuffs clanking. His knuckles are bruised and scraped and look pretty sore.</p><p>“The chemicals, from the truck, that blinded me,” he says after a moment, “they did something else to me. They heightened my senses.”</p><p>“When you say heightened …?” Foggy puts in.</p><p>“I mean I can hear your heartbeat,” says Murdock, flatly. “I can tell you what cologne Sergeant Mahoney’s wearing. I can taste every chemical in my food. There’s more to senses than sight, Mr Nelson.”</p><p>Foggy nods, and then says, “I nodded. But can you tell that?”</p><p>“Roughly,” Murdock says. “It’s a bit like echolocation, or so I understand.” He shrugs. “In any case, whatever we call it, however it happened, every time someone calls for help, or screams, or is abused, in a three-block radius, I hear it. Can you imagine living with that and <em>not</em> doing anything?”</p><p>“No,” says Foggy, honestly, because it sounds horrific. He looks down at the list of charges. “These go back a few months. How long have you been doing this? Can we expect more charges to be dragged up?”</p><p>Murdock twists his hands. “Um,” he says.</p><p>“A year?” Foggy suggests. “Two? More?”</p><p>“Seven,” says Murdock. “Well. It’s got … I’ve been going out more, in the last year or so. Since the Incident. Things seem to have got worse out there. Or maybe I’m just getting worse at blocking it all out.”</p><p>“Some of these cases may come out of the woodwork,” Foggy warns. “Most people will remember getting beat up by a ninja.”</p><p>“I’m not a ninja,” Murdock objects.</p><p>“I’ve seen the videos,” Foggy says, “you’re not just a guy whaling on folk. You know what you’re doing.”</p><p>“Yeah,” admits Murdock. “Um, it started at college.”</p><p>“Right.” Foggy remembers what Brett had said. “Detective Mahoney says you were at Columbia. So was I. But I don’t remember you, and I feel I should.”</p><p>Murdock’s mouth twitches. “I didn’t stay long. Started law school in, what, ’05?”</p><p>“That <em>was</em> my year,” Foggy. “Class of ’08.”</p><p>“Right.” Murdock nods. “There was some mix-up with my room, to start with. The guy I was put with really didn’t like having a blind roommate. And I couldn’t handle him. He snored, he smelled, he came in late, he left his shit all over the floor. We lasted about three weeks and then they moved me into a single room.”</p><p>Foggy thinks of the fun he and his roommate had had. “Sucks, man,” he says, sympathetically.</p><p>“I spent most of the time since the accident alone anyway,” Murdock says, as though this doesn’t matter. “Took me a while when I was a kid to get used to the noise, and I acted out because of it. So yeah, after that I kind of kept myself to myself. And then I met a girl.”</p><p>He keeps talking. Although he’d started out taciturn, somehow something has changed and Foggy listens, makes notes, puts in the occasional question, and boggles at the tale he’s being told.</p><p>“I could have killed him,” Murdock is saying. “I nearly did. I beat him to a pulp and I walked out of there. Elektra was mad I stopped short, but she came back the next night.” He looks thoughtful. “I guess it was a couple of weeks later I quit school.”</p><p>“What happened?” asks Foggy, fascinated and horrified in equal measure.</p><p>“Elektra took me travelling, for a while,” Murdock says. “I hated it. I was lost. So I left her too, came back to Hell’s Kitchen.” His eyes flick down at the table, unseeing. “It’s the only place I’ve ever felt safe, really.”</p><p>“What do you do for money?” Foggy queries, hurrying to add, “not for my bills.”</p><p>“Bit of tutoring,” Murdock replies. “Spanish, mostly. My dad left me some savings, and there’s still a little left. I had scholarships for school and Elektra paid for the travelling, so I didn’t need to dip in much.”</p><p>Foggy isn’t sure how well tutoring, presumably to rich kids, is going to go down with a jury, but he notes it down and refrains from commenting.</p><p>“How about people who could testify to your character?” he asks instead. “Friends? Relatives? Maybe parents of the kids you tutor?”</p><p>Murdock frowns. “My priest, maybe?”</p><p>“Does he know about what you do? Although, hang on, isn’t that stuff protected by the confessional?” Foggy asks, and then realises he’s asking a client for a legal opinion. Murdock evidently realises too, because he raises his eyebrows and almost meets Foggy’s eyes.</p><p>“You tell me, counsellor. You’re the one with the bar admission.”</p><p>“Anyone else?” Foggy says, forging on regardless.</p><p>“Johnny Fogwell,” Murdock says, after a moment. “Owns the gym my dad used to box in. He’s known me since I was a kid. He doesn’t know about Daredevil, not officially, but I think he’s guessed. He lets me use the gym after hours.”</p><p>Foggy writes this down. “Did he teach you to fight?”</p><p>“No,” Murdock says, and there’s something in his expression which quashes Foggy’s next question (“so who did?”) completely.</p><p>Looking at his notes, Foggy feels his heart sink. It’s not much to build a defence on, not against the no-doubt damning physical and video evidence the DA will bring. He closes his notepad anyway, and stands up, gathering it and the folder of the charges together.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get to work on this, see if I can come up with something. Do you need anything else?”</p><p>Murdock thinks for a moment, and nods. “Yeah.” He gestures, as best he can with the handcuffs, at his eyes. “I normally wear glasses. Shades. And my cane … I don’t need it, but it helps if I don’t have to focus all the time.”</p><p>For a moment, Foggy thinks of the piles of files and the mountain of emails back at the office, but then he takes a proper look at the hunched figure in front of him and he gives in.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Murdock gives him an address, and tells him to go in by the roof because the door will be open. “I might not be able to see you when I come back,” Foggy warns him, “but I’ll give the stuff to Sergeant Mahoney. He’s a decent guy. He’ll make sure it’s passed on.”</p><p>Outside the interview room Foggy stands for a moment and takes a deep breath. “<em>Fuck</em>,” he says, under his breath, wondering whether his client can hear him, and also what the hell he’s got himself into. Then he goes to see Mahoney, to do what he can to make Murdock more comfortable before he comes back with his things.</p><p>On the way to Murdock’s apartment he calls Marci, to tell her he’s going to miss their date for tacos at lunch, and his secretary, to tell her to cancel client meetings for the afternoon. He’ll weather that storm later.</p><p>The apartment is on the top floor of an old tenement block in Hell’s Kitchen, and Foggy isn’t expecting much from it. But when he pushes open the steel door on the roof and descends, he stands amazed in a spacious, airy loft space with minimal furniture and little decoration. From the curtainless windows there is the changing neon light of a huge billboard opposite, casting weird shadows on the floor.</p><p>The sofa has a throw on it that is amazingly soft to Foggy’s touch; the fridge is mostly empty; and when he peeks into the closet he finds a row of hangers labelled in Braille and a bunch of t-shirts and hoodies in neutral tones. There is one, cheap suit there too, which, Foggy thinks morosely, will doubtless be useful when the case ends up in court.</p><p>He finds the shades and cane in the hallway – the glasses red and round and unusual, the cane folded up and on a small table. Foggy grabs a hoodie from the closet too, because he knows cells can get cold.</p><p>Before leaving, he stands and looks around the apartment one last time, trying to get a sense of his client from it. All he really gets is a sense of isolation. This is not a place one would bring friends, or a lover, or even a place he thinks Murdock spends much time in.</p><p>He goes back to the precinct and drops the things off at the desk, and then on to his office.</p><p>After dealing with a bunch of other client matters, Foggy gets down to work. He types up his notes first, and then fires up Google and gets on to some serious research in the hunt for articles which might mitigate against the charges Murdock is facing.</p><p>‘Hell’s Kitchen Hero Kid Blinded’ is the first thing he reads, an article from the <em>Daily Bulletin</em> from the day after Murdock’s accident. There is a quote from the old man Murdock pushed out of the way, and more from bystanders.</p><p>The next article he pulls up is from a couple of years later. ‘Hero Boy’s Boxer Dad Shot Dead’ is the headline on this one, and Foggy reads about how Jack Murdock, newly victorious against a bitter rival, was found murdered in an alley and how the police had to comfort his young son, who had somehow found his way to his father’s body. There’s a quote in this one from Johnny Fogwell, expressing regret over Jack Murdock’s death.</p><p>That’s pretty much it when it comes to articles mentioning Matthew Murdock, so Foggy changes his search term and starts in on ‘Daredevil’. Now he’s faced with pages of results – articles, and videos, and blogs, and endless speculative Reddit threads. He watches a few of the videos, which are mostly pretty bad quality. Daredevil tends to fight in dark corners at night, and even today’s smartphones can’t deal well with the combination of shadows and fast movement. Foggy can’t recognise much of his client in the lithe dark figure spinning and kicking on his computer screen.</p><p>He bookmarks a few pieces from the <em>Bulletin</em> involving interviews with people saved by Daredevil, and notes down their names to follow up.</p><p>Next on the list of things to search for are the contact details of Father Paul Lantom, at Clinton Church, and Johnny Fogwell. Father Lantom is easy to find, as there’s a picture of him on the church’s website and a list of service and confessional hours. Fogwell is harder, but after a couple of calls to the firm’s business development team Foggy has an address for him.</p><p>He’s leaning back in his chair wondering where to start with talking to people when there’s a knock on the door and Marci appears.</p><p>“Foggy Bear,” she says, “it’s almost seven. Coming home?”</p><p>Foggy blinks at her, and then at his watch. He hadn’t realised how the time had flown by. He gathers up the Murdock files and notes and shoves them into his satchel. “Sure,” he says, shutting down his computer.</p><p>They don’t talk much on the subway, and it’s only when they’re halfway through plates of pasta at home that Marci puts down her fork and meets Foggy in the eye.</p><p>“Okay, spill,” she says. “What’s this new case of yours and why are you so hooked on it all of a sudden?”</p><p>Foggy swallows a mouthful of wine. “Remember Brett Mahoney?”</p><p>“Came to your birthday once,” Marci says. “Um, he’s a cop, right?”</p><p>“Yeah. Sergeant, now,” Foggy says. “He’s done well.” He explains Mahoney’s call and describes his first impressions of Matt Murdock. “I mean he’s beat up, and his knuckles are all scraped, but at the same time he’s definitely blind.” He twirls spaghetti on his fork. “And get this, he was at Columbia with us. Or he started with us, and then he quit.”</p><p>“Law school?”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Foggy agrees, his mouth full of pasta.</p><p>Marci thinks for a moment. “Wait, is he like a little taller than you? Reddish highlights in his hair? Cute smile?”</p><p>“Yes to the hair,” says Foggy, “couldn’t say as to the others. He didn’t smile much today, and he was sitting down. I mean objectively I’d say he’s reasonable-looking.”</p><p>“I think I remember him,” Marci says. “There was a sweepstake as to who would fuck him first, and whether it would be a pity fuck or not. God, we were such bitches.”</p><p>Foggy can’t argue with that, but wisely says nothing.</p><p>“But nobody won the sweepstake,” Marci continues, swirling her wine in its glass. “He just vanished, not that long after we came back from Christmas vacation.”</p><p>“How do you remember him and I don’t?” Foggy asks, annoyed with himself.</p><p>Marci shrugs. “Like I said, he was cute, and the blind thing made him interesting, and the fact he kept himself to himself made him a challenge. You were having way too much fun being Foggy Nelson, the life of everyone’s party.” She puts her hand over his. “Don’t feel bad. I hadn’t thought of him until tonight. And he claims he’s Daredevil? Shouldn’t he be trying to deny it?”</p><p>“That would make defending him a hell of a lot easier,” agrees Foggy. “He’s … he seems tired. And I don’t think he’s really talked to many people recently.”</p><p>She leans across the table. “Why are you taking this on, Foggy Bear?”</p><p>He meets her eyes, and twines his fingers in hers. “Because I don’t think he deserves to be in jail. I think he needs help. And it’s like Brett said – he’s a Hell’s Kitchen kid, and so am I, and we should stick together.”</p><p>Marci kisses him, tasting of tomato sauce and red wine.</p><p>“You’re a big softy, Foggy. Hope you’ve thought of a way to argue this past Jeri.”</p><p>“I’ve hit my billing targets for the month,” Foggy says, “and if this does go to trial, the publicity will be worth next month’s targets. I hope.”</p><p>“Ever the optimist.” She kisses him again, and then returns to her plate of pasta.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>The arraignment is brief. There are few people in the courtroom – staff, a couple of cops, the judge, a reporter from the Bulletin with long blonde hair who writes industriously as the clerk reads the list of charges. Murdock listens with his head slightly tilted and no expression on his face, and his voice is firm and clear when he says, “not guilty, your honour”.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had vaguely planned to update this once a week but time got away from me in that weird way it is doing right now. Thank you for kudos and comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Foggy has little time to prepare for Murdock’s arraignment, and in any case, it is pretty much a formality. He meets his client at court, finding him wearing the hoodie Foggy had brought for him, as well as his shades, and with his cane folded on his lap. He looks only slightly less beaten up than the night before.</p><p>“Still pleading not guilty?” Foggy asks.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Well, I guess you know how this works,” Foggy says, “as we covered it first term at Columbia. You won’t get bail, not with these charges, although I'll protest when the judge makes that call. We go in, they list the charges, you plead not guilty, they arraign you.”</p><p>Murdock nods.</p><p>“I suggest you keep the shades on, use the cane,” Foggy adds. “Hate to say it, but the more blind you look, the better this might go.”</p><p>His client snaps open the cane with a flick of his hand. “See you in there,” he says, with a hint of a smile.</p><p>Foggy only gets the joke when he’s halfway down the corridor, and he finds himself rolling his eyes at it.</p><p>The arraignment is brief. There are few people in the courtroom – staff, a couple of cops, the judge, a reporter from the <em>Bulletin</em> with long blonde hair who writes industriously as the clerk reads the list of charges. Murdock listens with his head slightly tilted and no expression on his face, and his voice is firm and clear when he says, “not guilty, your honour”.</p><p>The judge sighs, bangs his gavel, and says, “case will proceed to trial. There will be no bail.”</p><p>“Your honour!” tries Foggy, because he has to, but the judge merely glares and bangs the gavel again.</p><p>“No thank you, Mr Nelson,” he says, and that is the arraignment done.</p><p>Murdock is led out, his hand gripping the elbow of his guard and his cane tap-tapping along the floor. Foggy trails out the other exit, planning what to do next, and the cute blonde reporter appears next to him, clutching her notebook.</p><p>“Mr Nelson?” she says. “Hi. Karen Page, <em>Daily Bulletin</em>.”</p><p>“Hi,” Foggy says, cautiously.</p><p>“Got a moment?” Karen Page asks, bright and cheerful. “Thanks. Unusual case you got there.” She waits for Foggy to say something. He hitches his satchel onto his shoulder, and refrains from reply.</p><p>“I’ve got this crazy theory, and wondered perhaps if you wanted to comment,” Page continues, pen poised over her notebook page as she walks. “I’ve been following our local vigilante pretty closely over the last few months, and his way of working lines up pretty neatly with the charges against Mr Murdock.”</p><p>“Mr Murdock is a blind man who tutors kids at home,” Foggy says, because it’s true.</p><p>“Yeah, he is,” agrees Page, “but would you like to comment on whether your client is also Daredevil, Mr Nelson?”</p><p>“I would like to focus on obtaining justice for my client,” Foggy says, sidestepping the question.</p><p>“You’re avoiding the answer,” Page observes, accurately.</p><p>“Just report that Mr Murdock has pleaded not guilty, if indeed you think it worth reporting that the city is bringing assault charges against a man who can’t see,” Foggy says. He fishes in a pocket. “I have things to do, Ms Page. Here’s my card, but I won’t be commenting on this case until a jury delivers a verdict.”</p><p>He nods at her, and leaves her frowning at him and her notebook. There are people he needs to see.</p><p>It’s been years since Foggy’s been in a church, yet he still finds himself crossing himself as he stands in the doorway of Clinton Church. It’s a beautiful building, with high soaring ceilings and stained glass and rows of dark wooden pews. He checks his watch; just under 10 minutes until confession is over.</p><p>He sits down and waits, listening to the recorded organ music playing in the church, until the curtain of the confessional is pushed back and a woman emerges, looking relieved. A moment later and the other curtain opens to reveal a priest – getting on a bit in years, but spry and energetic nevertheless. Foggy rises and approaches.</p><p>“Father Lantom?” he asks.</p><p>The priest looks at him with an intelligent, piercing gaze. “Yes, that’s me. You’re not one of my parishioners.”</p><p>Foggy sticks his hand out. “Franklin Nelson. Foggy. I’m an attorney for one of them. Matt Murdock.”</p><p>“Oh.” Father Lantom’s voice says that he understands. “Do you drink coffee, Mr Nelson?”</p><p>He leads the way into a back room and makes Foggy a very good latte.</p><p>“Is Matthew in trouble?” the priest queries, taking a seat and gesturing Foggy into one.</p><p>“He’s been arrested,” Foggy says, sensing that being level with the priest is the best way forward. “He’s facing multiple, serious assault charges. He said you may be willing to be a character witness for him.”</p><p>“Ah.” Lantom nods. “You know, then.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“What I know about Matthew is covered by the seal of confession,” Lantom says.</p><p>Foggy tries his coffee. It’s good.</p><p>“They can’t force you to reveal anything he’s told you,” agrees Foggy, who read up on priest-penitent privilege before coming to the church. “But you can talk about him as a person. Portraying him as a believer might help.”</p><p>“Religion has been the excuse for much evil over the years,” Father Lantom said. “Not all believers are good men.”</p><p>“Do you think Matt Murdock is a good man?” Foggy counters, and the priest sips his coffee before answering.</p><p>“Yes,” he says. “He is a moral man. He wrestles with his need to do something about the crime in this city, and the way he does it. I think he feels immense guilt sometimes, but I think he’d feel more if he sat back and let it all happen. He cares. Most don’t. And yes, I would testify to his morality, if it came to it. But I wouldn’t say I know him well. He doesn’t let people in.”</p><p>Foggy nods. “I got that feeling,” he agrees. “I hope it won’t come to a trial. I’m going to try my utmost to stop it getting that far. But if it does …” he feels in his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card, “I’ll be in touch, if that’s okay.”</p><p>Lantom takes the card, glances at it and stows it in his pants pocket. “More than okay.” He cradles his coffee. “I’ve known Matthew since he came to the orphanage, and I’ve seen him struggle with his own personal demons since then. He deserves some folk who care for him.”</p><p>“I’m just his lawyer,” Foggy says quickly. “It’s a job.”</p><p>The priest looks at him hard over the rim of his mug. “Hmmm,” he says.</p><p>Foggy finishes his coffee, stands up and shakes Lantom’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”</p><p>Johnny Fogwell is the next stop on Foggy’s list. He lives in an apartment block around the corner from his eponymous gym, and he’s in when Foggy rings the buzzer. He turns out to be somewhat overweight and wheezy, and much like many other older Hell’s Kitchen men Foggy’s met over the years. It’s easy to fall into the right rhythm of talking to him, and within minutes Foggy’s sitting down with a glass of iced water.</p><p>“So, you’re an attorney?” Fogwell asks, sitting back in an armchair.</p><p>“Yes sir,” says Foggy. “I’m representing Matthew Murdock, who I believe you know?”</p><p>“Known him since he was barely out of diapers,” Fogwell grins. “Smart kid.” His expression shifts. “Why does he need a lawyer?”</p><p>Foggy sips water, and tries to work out how much to say. “I understand he uses your gym?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Fogwell agrees. “Goes in after hours.”</p><p>“It doesn’t worry you, a blind man in a gym alone?” Foggy asks, trying to gauge how much Fogwell knows, or guesses.</p><p>“Matty can handle himself,” Fogwell says. He gives Foggy a sharp look. “You still didn’t say why he needs a lawyer.”</p><p>“He’s been arrested on, um, assault charges,” Foggy says, risking it. Fogwell merely nods; he doesn’t look surprised, or shocked. “He might need a character reference,” pursues Foggy, heartened by the old man’s lack of reaction.</p><p>“And I’ll give one, sure,” Fogwell agrees instantly. “It ain’t right, what that kid’s gone through, and I blame myself for Jack. Shoulda seen it coming. Boy needed someone to look out for him, and there was nobody there.”</p><p>“Thank you,” says Foggy, rising. He hands Fogwell a card. “I’ll be in touch.”</p><p>The old man doesn’t get up. He looks up at Foggy. “Glad Matty’s got himself a good lawyer.”</p><p>Foggy busied himself with his coat. “I’m from Hell’s Kitchen too,” he says. “Seems the least I should do.”</p><p>“It’s the least any of us should do,” Fogwell says.</p><p>On the subway back to the office Foggy’s mind is a whirl. The accounts of Daredevil’s brutality – the videos he’s seen – do not really accord with the picture painted by the priest and Fogwell, of a traumatised, misunderstood young man. Meanwhile Murdock himself, tired and beaten up, seems neither traumatised nor brutal, but just immensely weary. Still, Foggy thinks, both Lantom and Fogwell would do well on the stand.</p><p>Halfway through the afternoon he’s interrupted in his work when the neat, stylish figure of his boss appears.</p><p>“Jeri. Hi,” Foggy says, putting down his pen.</p><p>“Are you doing some sort of pro bono case?” she asks, without preamble.</p><p>“Ah. Yes.” He pushes his hair back. “I think it could be good for our profile.”</p><p>“This firm’s profile is quite good enough,” Hogarth says, sharply. “Talk.”</p><p>Foggy talks, and Hogarth’s eyebrows rise higher as he does so.</p><p>“A blind man says he’s Daredevil and you believe him? And you want to get him off the charges?” she says, her tone acerbic. “I thought you were better than that, Nelson.”</p><p>He finds himself defensive. “I’ve hit my targets the last six months,” he says, “in fact I think I’m 20 per cent over target for the year so far. I’ve been reading up; for every criminal wanting to sue Daredevil for their injuries there’s three civilians wanting to give the guy a medal for saving them. He’s popular. We get him off, it’s good publicity.”</p><p>Hogarth gives him a hard, long stare. “And if we don’t?” she asks, eventually.</p><p>“Then it’s the fault of an idealistic senior associate whose services you won’t require any more,” Foggy barrels on.</p><p>“Ha.” Her laugh is short and humourless. “I’ll give you this, Nelson, you have balls. All right, you’re on. Do it.” At the door, she turns on one elegant Blahnik heel. “Get him off.”</p><p>She closes the door behind her, and Foggy leans back in his chair, suddenly sweaty and cold. “Idiot,” he says to himself.</p><p>Brett Mahoney calls at the end of the day.</p><p>“Hey, Nelson,” he says. “Look, we can’t hold him at the 15th any longer. He’s going to Rikers.”</p><p>“You’re sending a blind man to Rikers?” Foggy says, propping his phone between ear and shoulder and starting to gather his things. “Surely that’s illegal?”</p><p>Mahoney sighs. “Look, you know what he’s accused of. They’ll send a doctor in to test him, but I don’t think the DA thinks he’s really blind.”</p><p>“Shit,” says Foggy, heading out of the door, juggling satchel and phone. “Can you hold him until I get there?”</p><p>“You’ve got 35 minutes,” Mahoney says.</p><p>He flags a cab down outside the office and tells the driver to make it quick; he’s at the door of the 15th Precinct just 20 minutes after putting down the phone.</p><p>Murdock is in a holding cell. He lifts his head as the door is opened, and before Foggy can greet him, says, “evening, Mr Nelson. Come to try and save me from Rikers?”</p><p>Foggy sits down on the bench next to him, and does not ask how Murdock knew who was visiting him, because he’s sure it would creep him out. “I’m going to try,” he says.</p><p>Murdock just turns his head sideways, as though he’s looking at Foggy. “I can handle it,” he says.</p><p>“Doesn’t mean you should have to, even if you can,” Foggy returns. “There are other jails they can detain you in. Like the Met Correctional. It’s in Manhattan, at least. I can put a complaint into the DA.”</p><p>“I don’t want special treatment,” Murdock returns, his voice flat.</p><p>Foggy feels irritation rise in him. “Asking for special treatment emphasises that you deserve special treatment.”</p><p>“I don’t deserve special treatment.”</p><p>Now Foggy feels like banging his head against the wall of the cell. “Mr Murdock, I’m just trying to help you. It’d be easier if you let me.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask for your help.”</p><p>“No,” Foggy agrees, “but you accepted it, and unless you fire me, you’re stuck with me. Look, I’ve got your priest and Johnny Fogwell lined up for character references already. My boss is, for some unknown reason, actually letting me work your case. Just let me work it?”</p><p>Murdock adjusts his shades and puts his head back against the wall. “Okay, make your call. But I can deal with Rikers.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>He gets Mahoney to stall the correctional officers, and makes a call, and then another call, but it’s to no avail. The DA’s office will not budge, and an hour later Foggy is standing helpless, watching Murdock pretend badly that he needs guidance to get into the van waiting outside the precinct.</p><p>Getting home, he goes straight to the kitchen and pours himself a large glass of red wine, glugging half of it down, and then taking the other half to the sofa. He feels like he’s at a dead end – on the one hand, he has good references all lined up, but on the other hand, Murdock himself seems determined to sabotage his defence.</p><p>He’s still sitting on the sofa when Marci gets in. She drops her stuff and comes straight over to him, giving him a hug and then letting him lie back with his head on her stomach.</p><p>“Talk to me,” she says.</p><p>“I think I’m going to lose,” Foggy admits. “There’s a journalist who says she knows who he is. And he’s just so stubborn. Won’t take help. I think I should have stuck to defending bankers.”</p><p>Marci smooths his hair down, and then takes his wine and drinks. “Stop worrying about it tonight,” she says, putting the wine down and bending over to kiss him. “You’ve got a while, I guess, before the trial. Time to come up with a strategy. Work the evidence. Talk to people. You know, do your job.”</p><p>Twisting around, Foggy returns the kiss, with interest. “Right. Tomorrow.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Foggy has never been to Rikers before, and inside his stomach is butterflies, but he keeps as cool as he can as the cab sweeps across the East River. He’s handed a visitor’s badge at reception, then goes through security, gets patted down and shepherded with all the other visitors along a corridor and into the visiting room, with its partitioned cubicles and the telephones to speak to prisoners.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another slow update. Chapter four is done, chapter five is progressing and as of next week I should have more time to write as I have less work on. And as I can't go out and spend money I might as well write fic. </p>
<p>Again apologies for any errors in depiction of NY criminal procedure. I've researched what I can, but this is fictionalised law, it definitely doesn't work quite like this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Foggy spends the next two days reading. He researches every case he can find involving a person with disabilities being charged with a felony, in the hope that one of them might have an answer for him. The challenge is that all the previous cases involved a normal person with a normal disability, and Murdock is anything but normal.</p>
<p>He checks out the Sokovia Accords too, for good measure, but they are largely unhelpful and anyway he’s not sure he wants to position Murdock as someone who should be bound by them.</p>
<p>With the case law exhausted, it’s time to turn to the evidence in front of him.</p>
<p>Murdock is facing 12 charges – nine of first-degree assault, one of assaulting a police officer, two of second-degree. Foggy looks at the police officer charge first; a very specific case in which the officer had arrested Daredevil in the wake of a foiled robbery, but found himself swiftly knocked out and his prisoner gone.</p>
<p>The officer had suffered only a minor concussion, and Foggy makes a note to ask Murdock why he had decided to resist arrest on that particular occasion,</p>
<p>The second-degree cases, Foggy thinks, can probably be disposed of fairly easily. Both are complaints brought by people with prior convictions and outstanding arrest warrants and in fact back up Murdock’s assertion that he was trying to help other people. The force used was arguably reasonable in such situations.</p>
<p>The first-degree cases are principally exaggerated versions of the second-degree charges, but arguing that Murdock had been using reasonable force to protect citizens was, Foggy decides after reading the second, going to be tough. Reasonable force did not leave someone in a coma with several broken bones for a month. He finds himself marvelling that his quiet, gloomy client could have inflicted such pain on another person – that anyone could inflict such pain on another person.</p>
<p>He had taken the case hoping that he could somehow negotiate a plea bargain and stop it going to trial, but this seems ever more unlikely the more he reads. Nevertheless, Foggy is not the type to give up on something, and so he makes a note of all the possible holes he can find, everything where the police might have cut corners.</p>
<p>It’s three days before he can go and visit Murdock at Rikers. He has a list of questions to ask, but mostly he wants to see how – if – his client is coping.</p>
<p>Foggy has never been to Rikers before, and inside his stomach is butterflies, but he keeps as cool as he can as the cab sweeps across the East River. He’s handed a visitor’s badge at reception, then goes through security, gets patted down and shepherded with all the other visitors along a corridor and into the visiting room, with its partitioned cubicles and the telephones to speak to prisoners.</p>
<p>He gets a sense that Murdock’s not in a good place when he arrives, led by a guard and managing his cane with difficulty, given that his hands are shackled. On closer inspection Foggy is certain that his client is struggling; there’s a new cut on his eyebrow and his cheek looks puffy, and when he lifts his hands to find the telephone receiver the knuckles are newly scraped.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Murdock says, once he’s lifted the phone to his ear.</p>
<p>“Hey,” says Foggy.</p>
<p>Murdock winces. “Just put the phone on the table when you talk,” he says, “I can hear you fine through the glass. Or whisper into it, or something.”</p>
<p>Foggy’s mind boggles yet again about the scale of his client’s senses. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Is that better?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“You look like you’ve been in a fight,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>Murdock tenses, and his shoulders hunch a little. “Just some guys at lunch who decided it’d be amusing to trip up the blind man.”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t you just have let them trip you?” Foggy asks, because seriously, where is Murdock’s sense of self-preservation?</p>
<p>“Then they’d have done it again,” Murdock points out. “They won’t now.”</p>
<p>Foggy drops his voice as low as he can make it. “There’s a ton of prisoners in this jail who you helped convict,” he says. “Maybe don’t show them you can fight? Aren’t you worried they’ll try again, armed maybe?”</p>
<p>Murdock’s jaw is set. Foggy sighs. “Are you in a cell by yourself?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“How’s your cellmate?”</p>
<p>“Snores. Sweats. Scratches.” Murdock shrugs. “It’s okay, I don’t sleep much anyway.”</p>
<p>“Earplugs?” suggests Foggy, and then winces at the scorn on his client’s face. “Okay, forget the earplugs.” He reaches to his satchel and pulls out his papers. “So, this is where I’m at,” he says, and gives Murdock as full a run-down of the case so far as he can. The other man listens, asks the occasional question and makes the odd point – all, Foggy realises as he jots them down, salient, sensible things.</p>
<p>“You’d have been a good lawyer,” he observes, when he gets to the end of it.</p>
<p>Something akin to pain flashes across Murdock’s face, and he tilts his head down and away from the glass. Foggy instantly hates himself for saying it.</p>
<p>“So my next job is to track down as many witnesses to these alleged assaults as I can,” he says. “I need to work out if the cops made any mistakes, and if we can get a few of the charges dropped on that basis.” He looks at his notes. “The cop who arrested you, the one where you got away – what made you resist that time, and not this time?”</p>
<p>“He’s one of Wilson Fisk’s men,” Murdock says.</p>
<p>“Whose men?” Foggy asks, writing the name down.</p>
<p>“He’s controlling half the gangs in the Kitchen,” Murdock explains. “I don’t know much about him. Never come across him in person. But I’ve heard it from enough people to know it’s true. He’s controlling the gangs, and he’s starting to build a network of cops, and probably FBI too.”</p>
<p>Foggy nearly forgets to keep his voice down. “How can you be sure?”</p>
<p>“People have told me,” says Murdock.</p>
<p>“But how do you know they’re telling the truth?” Foggy persists.</p>
<p>“I always know when someone’s telling the truth,” Murdock says, as the bell goes for the end of visiting. “People’s heartrates change when they’re lying. They start sweating. It shows.” He turns his head and the red glasses are looking almost directly at Foggy. “You’ve never once lied to me. You said you’d try and defend me, and you meant it. I appreciate that, Mr Nelson.”</p>
<p>“Foggy, please,” says Foggy. “Okay. I’ll see what comes up. In return, you look after yourself? There’s no point me putting my career on the line for you if you get a shiv in your side, Mr Murdock.”</p>
<p>“Matt,” says Murdock, as the guards come up behind him, and there’s almost a smile on his face.</p>
<p>“Matt,” Foggy agrees, putting his receiver back on the hook. “I’ll be back in three days.”</p>
<p>Murdock nods, even as the guards are leading him off. Foggy shoves his papers back in his bag and takes a deep breath.</p>
<p>It’s Marci who has the idea, when Foggy is unburdening himself to her over dinner. They’re out at their favourite Chinese place, and his mouth is full of sweet and sour beef when she says, “you know Hogarth has a PI on retainer, right?”</p>
<p>Foggy nods.</p>
<p>“Well,” Marci says, putting her chopsticks down, “did you know she’s, like, powered or something? I’ve heard she’s super-strong.”</p>
<p>“I hadn’t heard that,” Foggy admits.</p>
<p>“She’s also supposed to be super-good,” Marci continues. “As a PI, I mean. But if she’s powered, maybe she’ll sympathise with your guy.”</p>
<p>“Matt,” says Foggy absently.</p>
<p>Marci raises an eyebrow. “You’re on first-name terms?”</p>
<p>“Just seemed right,” Foggy says. “We’re the same age. If stuff had happened differently, we could’ve known each other at school. Feels weird calling each other Mr Nelson and Mr Murdock.”</p>
<p>“Whatever,” Marci says. “Why don’t you get in touch with Hogarth’s PI chick and see if she’ll help you?”</p>
<p>The next day at the office, Foggy follows through on Marci’s advice. He talks to the receptionist and manages to get out of her the name of Hogarth’s PI, and then he Googles her to find a simple, clear website with minimal contact details. It turns out the PI, Jessica Jones, is based in Hell’s Kitchen, and Marci’s idea suddenly seems eminently more sensible.</p>
<p>Foggy calls Brett Mahoney before calling Jones.</p>
<p>“This isn’t about my client,” he says, before Mahoney can protest that they shouldn’t be speaking. “Well, not directly. What do you know about Jessica Jones?”</p>
<p>“A pain in my ass,” Mahoney says. “Maybe not as much as Daredevil, but the chick has a habit of getting into trouble.”</p>
<p>“What’s she like at her job?” asks Foggy.</p>
<p>Mahoney grunts. “Yeah. Good. <em>Very </em>good, if I’m being honest.”</p>
<p>“Good enough for me,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>He tries calling Jones, and gets voicemail. An hour later, voicemail again. Half an hour after that, she picks up.</p>
<p>“Alias Investigations.”</p>
<p>“Jessica Jones?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Who’s asking?”</p>
<p>Foggy introduces himself. “I was hoping you might be able to help me look into the evidence against my client.”</p>
<p>Jones sighs audibly down the phone. “I told Hogarth …” she begins.</p>
<p>“This isn’t really a Hogarth case,” Foggy says. “Look, I’d rather talk in person.”</p>
<p>“I can give you half an hour,” Jones says, “if you come over now.”</p>
<p>The cab pulls up outside a typical Hell’s Kitchen building on West 48th. The elevator is dingy and smells. Foggy finds Jones’s office at the other end of the corridor, knocks, and waits.</p>
<p>“C’mon in,” she calls, from inside.</p>
<p>Jessica Jones, it turns out, is a slim, dark woman about Foggy’s own age, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans and with an open bottle of whiskey on her desk. She catches him looking at it, and gives him a glare.</p>
<p>Foggy takes the seat opposite her, and pulls out his files. “Thanks for seeing me,” he says.</p>
<p>She shrugs. “Whatever. Spill.”</p>
<p>He pushes the police file across to her, and she opens it. “My client is facing a number of assault charges,” he begins. “He’s pleading not guilty. He says he was defending the innocent.”</p>
<p>Jones reads the first couple of pages swiftly, and looks up, something sparking in her gaze. “Your client’s Daredevil,” she says.</p>
<p>Foggy nods. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“He’s not denying it?”</p>
<p>“He was kind of caught red-handed,” Foggy says. “Look, before I say anything else, you in or not?”</p>
<p>“You’ll pay?” Jones asks. “Or will Hogarth? It’s a grand upfront, then 250 a day.”</p>
<p>It’s steep. Foggy resolves to work it out later. He writes her a cheque and pushes it across the table.</p>
<p>“My client’s blind,” he says. “Well.” He talks her through Murdock’s unique situation. Jones listens without taking notes. When Foggy finishes, she reaches for her whiskey and takes a long slug from the bottle, then fixes Foggy with a hard look.</p>
<p>“Why did you come to me?” she asks.</p>
<p>“I was told you’re good at your job,” says Foggy.</p>
<p>“Not because of anything else?” Jones returns. “Because if you’d hoped I’d somehow feel sympathy, or empathy, or whatever, for him, I don’t.”</p>
<p>Foggy had hoped something of the kind, but figures that now is not the time to admit to this. Jones shrugs.</p>
<p>“Whatever. Explains a lot, though. I’ve seen him, from a distance, quite a lot, but he’s always seemed to know someone’s there. Even if it’s pitch black and I’m on a rooftop two blocks away.” She pulls a notepad towards her. “Okay. What do you want from me?”</p>
<p>Inside, Foggy breathes a sigh of relief. “We need witnesses who’ll speak up in Mr Murdock’s defence,” he says, “and we need to find any holes we can in police procedure. And I need to know about someone called Wilson Fisk, and whether he has cops on his payroll.”</p>
<p>Jones writes, and swallows more whiskey. “You don’t lack ambition,” she comments.</p>
<p>“Ha.” Foggy starts gathering his things together. “I took this on because a friend asked me to, but now that I’m on it, I want to win it. I don’t think Matt Murdock deserves to be in prison. Can you start looking into the Fisk angle, and I’ll start talking to witnesses?”</p>
<p>“How long before the trial?” Jones asks.</p>
<p>“Couple of months, at least,” says Foggy. “We have time.”</p>
<p>“And I’ll want to meet him,” Jones adds, as Foggy stands up.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you know, next time I’m going to Rikers,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>He feels a lot more confident, somehow, leaving Jones’s dingy office-apartment. She might not be working from a flashy, modern office but there is an air of certainty about her – despite the drinking – which Foggy finds comforting. There is almost a spring in his step as he lifts an arm to hail a cab, before thinking of his bank balance and turning for the subway instead.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Raffaele Marino runs a grocers’ store in the north of Hell’s Kitchen, and he makes Foggy a superb espresso while they talk.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I owe Daredevil this place,” he says, gesturing at the shelves stocked with pasta and cookies.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am rewatching DD. I just finished S1 - and hopefully that will spark completion on this fic. I know where I want it to end up, just need to get there!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Raffaele Marino runs a grocers’ store in the north of Hell’s Kitchen, and he makes Foggy a superb espresso while they talk.</p>
<p>“I owe Daredevil this place,” he says, gesturing at the shelves stocked with pasta and cookies.</p>
<p>“Tell me about that night,” Foggy suggests.</p>
<p>“I was shutting up,” Marino says. “Just sweeping the floor, tidying up a bit, you know. And then these two guys come in, one had a gun. The other went for all the cash I had.”</p>
<p>“Did you scream, or call for help?” Foggy asks.</p>
<p>“I raised my voice, but I don’t remember screaming,” says Marino. “But next thing I know, Daredevil’s in here. He lays out the guy with the gun with one punch, kicks the gun away. The other guy goes for Daredevil and the fight goes out the door, so I call the cops. By the time they were here the other guy was out cold too, and Daredevil was gone.”</p>
<p>“Gone where?”</p>
<p>Marino shrugs. “Just gone. Then the cops came, and an ambulance.”</p>
<p>“What do you think would have happened if he hadn’t turned up?” Foggy asks.</p>
<p>“I reckon they’ve have taken everything in the cash register,” Marino says, “and maybe shot me. I guess I can’t swear to the latter.”</p>
<p>“But you’ll swear to Daredevil saving your store?” Foggy says, and Marino nods.</p>
<p>“Hell yeah. I don’t know where he came from, but I sure am glad he came.”</p>
<p>Foggy thanks him, for the testimony and the espresso, and gets up. He has an appointment with Jessica Jones, and then they’re off to Rikers. His legal pad is filled with similar accounts to Marino’s; people have been willing to talk and to support Daredevil, with only one witness saying they would not speak out in court for the vigilante.</p>
<p>Jones’s news is perhaps less positive than his. She’s been out trying to find information on Wilson Fisk, and while she’s found he definitely exists – there’s a birth certificate, and a death certificate for his mother, although no record of his father’s death – that’s about as far as she’s got. Still, it’s a start.</p>
<p>She is silent in the cab, resisting any of Foggy’s efforts at small talk. Foggy thinks they must make an odd looking duo – he in his bespoke suit, she in her battered leather jacket and ripped jeans.</p>
<p>He has managed to arrange a private meeting room this time, where they can actually talk to Murdock face-to-face. It took a bit of wrangling, but he hopes it will be worth it.</p>
<p>When they bring Murdock in, Foggy barely manages to restrain a gasp. From the way Murdock turns his head in Foggy’s direction, he’s pretty sure that his breathing or heartrate or something has changed.</p>
<p>Murdock has new scrapes on his hands, a cut lip and looks like he hasn’t slept since Foggy’s last visit. Foggy wishes he could see what the shades are hiding. The other man’s shoulders look hunched and tense and he visibly winces when the guard pushes him, none too gently, into the waiting seat. The guard steps back a pace or two; Foggy glares at him, and he retreats to the door.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Foggy says. “Er, Matt, this is Jessica Jones. She’s a PI, helping us out.”</p>
<p>Murdock does his head tilt thing in Jones’s direction. “I’d shake,” he says, lifting his manacled hands, “but …”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jones says. “Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Matt,” Foggy says, carefully, “has someone attacked you again? Can we see?”</p>
<p>Murdock lowers his head so he can reach his shades, and slips them off. It’s about as bad as Foggy had feared – deep shadows under Murdock’s eyes, and deep purple bruising all around his left eye. The other man lets them look for a moment, before putting the shades back on again.</p>
<p>“I’d heard you were better at defending yourself,” comments Jones, earning herself a twisted smile from Murdock.</p>
<p>“My attorney told me I should try not to,” he says. Then the twisted smile turns into more of a genuine one. “I’m not in the hospital wing, anyway.”</p>
<p>Foggy rubs his brow. “You mean …”</p>
<p>“Only two of them,” Murdock nods. “Concussion, and a broken collarbone. They’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I’m worried about,” Foggy says. “What about your sleep?”</p>
<p>“I’m doing a lot of meditating,” Murdock returns, as though this makes sense.</p>
<p>“Meditation’s not sleep,” remarks Jones.</p>
<p>“Whiskey’s not water,” Murdock says.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Foggy says, before the tension between them ratchets up any more. “Matt, I gotta tell you, you look like hell, man, and I have a duty of care towards you as my client. You need to be somewhere where there’s not going to be anyone trying to kill you, and where you can actually get some sleep.”</p>
<p>Murdock’s mouth tightens. “I’m getting a couple of hours,” he says.  </p>
<p>Sighing, Foggy changes tack. “Okay. Has the doctor been to assess you yet? I’m guessing not, otherwise I’d have had a report.”</p>
<p>Murdock shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Maybe the doc’ll give you some sleeping tablets,” Jones says. “’Cause man, you really need it.”</p>
<p>“She always this rude?” Murdock says, turning the shades in Foggy’s direction.</p>
<p>“Er, yeah, I think so,” Foggy admits. He checks his watch. “Okay, let’s talk through where we got to.”</p>
<p>He and Jones give Murdock a run-down of their work over the last few days. Murdock seems more interested in the PI’s efforts on the Wilson Fisk front than he is on Foggy’s efforts with witnesses, and despite his clear fatigue, his questions are again helpful and insightful.</p>
<p>“Have you heard about a date, for the trial?” Murdock asks, as their visiting time comes to an end.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Foggy admits.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Murdock shrugs.</p>
<p>By Foggy’s side, Jones gives him a long, hard look, and frowns to herself.</p>
<p>In the cab on the way back to Manhattan, Foggy says, “so?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t answer for a long moment, before turning to him. “The guy’s all sorts of fucked up, Nelson.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Foggy has to agree.</p>
<p>“I mean, I thought I was doing well on the fucked-up scale,” Jones continues, “but him? He wins. He needs serious help.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think he’ll accept it,” says Foggy. “He’s barely accepting me. If you mean psychiatric help, I’m with you, but the guy won’t even take a sleeping pill, so …”</p>
<p>“You think you can win this?” she asks.</p>
<p>Foggy leans back in his seat. “Honestly?” he says, “I have no idea. It’ll depend on the jury, and which Matt Murdock I can get coming to the stand. If we get the confrontational Matt Murdock we have no chance, but if we get the Matt Murdock who should have graduated Columbia at the top of his class, we have a chance.”</p>
<p>“You think he’s that smart?” Jones looks, and sounds, sceptical.</p>
<p>“He’s that smart,” Foggy says. “He’d have been brilliant, if he’d stuck it out. I guess … I guess I feel I owe him, to do this.”</p>
<p>She snorts. “Bit sentimental, Nelson.”</p>
<p>“Sue me,” Foggy retorts. “Other than fucked up, what did you make of him?”</p>
<p>“I can see why he’s dangerous, on the streets,” Jones says, which is not what Foggy was expecting her to say. “He’s single-minded. All he cares about really is Fisk, and saving others – he doesn’t care about himself.”</p>
<p>Foggy nods. She’s perceptive, and she’s right.</p>
<p>“Also,” adds Jones, leaning back in her seat, “the whole senses thing? It’s super-creepy.”</p>
<p>She’s right about that too, but Foggy finds himself wanting to defend Murdock. “He can’t really help it,” he says.</p>
<p>“I can’t help being … what I am,” Jones says, “but I don’t go around showing it off.”</p>
<p>Foggy wants to say that being super-strong is probably not quite the same as hearing people’s heartbeats, but he refrains from comment.</p>
<p>Back at the office he goes to talk to a few colleagues who do more criminal defence work than he, to pick their brains about ways to try and get Murdock into a safer environment – for himself, and his fellow inmates. Since taking on the case he’s found that most of the other associates at Hogarth, Chao &amp; Benowitz have eyed him with a mixture of respect, confusion and, in a couple of cases, distaste – as though by representing a vigilante he is letting the firm down. But there are a few friendlier guys who Foggy gets on with, and they’re only too happy to help in return for a few tidbits that Foggy feels able to drop.</p>
<p>“Call the DA’s office and threaten to bring a civil case against them,” suggests one. “The feds have a duty to look after their inmates, and they’re clearly failing.”</p>
<p>“Or skip that, and go to the press,” another says. “Do you have a friendly reporter somewhere? Let it be known that they’ve put a blind man awaiting trial on an open block and see how quickly they move him.”</p>
<p>Foggy stares at his colleague. “You’re a genius,” he says. “And yeah, come to think of it, maybe I do have a friendly reporter.”</p>
<p>Karen Page is keen to meet when he finds her number and calls. She picks a coffee shop halfway between Foggy’s office and the <em>Bulletin</em>, and is waiting when he arrives, notebook already on the table. He gets coffees for them both and joins her.</p>
<p>“Mr Nelson, I thought you weren’t going to comment until there was a verdict?” she says, meeting his eyes with a very direct, bright blue gaze.</p>
<p>Foggy shrugs. “Things change.”</p>
<p>“Well.” Page’s pen is ready.</p>
<p>“As you know, my client, Matthew Murdock, has been accused of several counts of assault,” Foggy begins. “He has pleaded not guilty, and denied bail. All this is normal. But my client is also blind. He has no light perception. Quite apart from anything else, that should have been taken into consideration. Instead, he was incarcerated in Rikers, despite my objections, and has been subject to repeated attacks from other inmates.”</p>
<p>Page’s pen whisks across her page. “So he’s injured?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>“Is anyone else injured?” Page queries, glancing up from her notebook.</p>
<p>“I believe my client defended himself to the best of his ability,” hedges Foggy.</p>
<p>She gives him a knowing look. “And has anything changed with his incarceration, since he was attacked?”</p>
<p>“No,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>“Has he been seen by a doctor?” Page asks.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Page writes this down too. “Mr Nelson, do you think your client would speak to me, at any point?”</p>
<p>“Honestly?” Foggy says, “probably not.”</p>
<p>She reads over her notes. “This isn’t a lot to go on, you know. I’m not sure I can persuade my editor to run it. Everyone knows Rikers is a violent place.”</p>
<p>“So why is a blind man imprisoned there?” Foggy counters.</p>
<p>Raising her eyebrows, Page shrugs. “You tell me. I guess because those charges against him are pretty serious.” She flicks a long hank of strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder. “I reckon my boss would change his mind if, say, I told him why we should care about this.”</p>
<p>“Because my client’s not receiving the treatment he should, as a vulnerable person in custody,” says Foggy.</p>
<p>Page sighs, puts down her pen and closes her notebook. She picks up her coffee and sips. “Okay, Mr Nelson, off the record. He’s Daredevil. You know it, I know it. I was in court, and a more irresponsible journalist would have run something already.”</p>
<p>“So why didn’t you?” he asks.</p>
<p>Cradling her hands around her mug, Page says, “because I think he saved my life.”</p>
<p>This is new. He nods, to encourage her to keep going.</p>
<p>“When I came to New York,” she says, “I worked as a secretary, for a company. And I found something out, something the company was doing. I talked to a colleague about it. He was killed, and I thought they were going to kill me too, but somehow Daredevil must have heard the fight. He came in, saved me, called the cops. I wanted to go public with … well, with what I found out, but after that …” Her eyes, shockingly blue, damp, meet Foggy’s. “But I discovered I liked digging into stuff, finding stuff out, so I ditched the secretary’s job and started out as an editorial assistant at the <em>Bulletin</em>. That was six months ago. Now I’m a reporter.”</p>
<p>“So you’re hardly impartial,” Foggy points out.</p>
<p>“Find me someone who is,” Page counters.</p>
<p>It’s true. Foggy already knows he’s going to have a hell of a time with jury selection, when it comes to it.</p>
<p>“The point is,” she goes on, “everyone has an opinion on Daredevil. But he deserves a fair trial, not trial by media. If I write this, it starts to polarise people. It positions him as a victim.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather that than having him seen as an aggressor,” Foggy says. “I’m just trying to get him off. Long term, that is. Short term, I’m trying to keep him alive.”</p>
<p>Page nods. “Yeah. I see that. You care about this case.”</p>
<p>“I care about every case,” Foggy says, too quickly, and she sees it and laughs.</p>
<p>“But you care about this one more. You care about your client.”</p>
<p>“I barely know him.”</p>
<p>“But you like him, I think,” Page says.</p>
<p>Foggy swallows a mouthful of coffee. “I do,” he says, finding he wants to trust this earnest young reporter. “He’s my age. We grew up in the same neighbourhood. We could’ve been friends.” He puts down his mug. “So where does this leave us, Miss Page?”</p>
<p>“Karen, please,” she says. “I’ll do some digging. Maybe he’s not the only inmate at Rikers whose needs haven’t been met. I’ll call you, if we’re going to publish.”</p>
<p>It’s better than nothing, and he shakes her hand and leaves.</p>
<p>By the time he gets home he’s exhausted. Marci tells him to shower and has food waiting when he gets out, his hair tousled and damp. He stares at her in awe.</p>
<p>“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks.</p>
<p>She pours herself a glass of wine and sits opposite him as he eats. “Because you’re a good man who deserves a bit of happiness,” she says. “And I think you’re kind of hot.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re kind of hot too,” Foggy says. “I just think it’s so unfair that some people get a break and others get all the crap rained down on them.”</p>
<p>Marci squeezes his hand. “You’re thinking about your case again.”</p>
<p>Foggy tells her about his day. Marci listens silently, holding his hand, and at the end shrugs.</p>
<p>“You’re doing all you can. More than most would, you know that? I hope he realises that.”</p>
<p>“All I can see is that he’ll either get stabbed to death in prison before the trial, or that we’ll lose and Hogarth will fire me,” Foggy says, glumly.</p>
<p>Marci considers these options, and shakes her head briskly. “If he’s as good as you say he is, I reckon he’ll look after himself. And I know you’re good, so I think you can win. You’re good, and Jessica Jones is good, and I’m good, and I’ll help if I can. You’re going to win this, Foggy Bear.”</p>
<p>“I am?” says Foggy, and then looks at the conviction in her eyes. “Yeah, I am.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>The doctor’s report lands in Foggy’s inbox a week later. He and Jessica Jones have made some progress with witnesses; less with Wilson Fisk. A visit to Rikers mid-week had been less than encouraging, with Murdock still tired and beaten up and protesting he was fine.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for continued comments and kudos. </p>
<p>Chpater 6 is done and 7 is progressing, so here's chapter 5, in which not a lot really happens, but things move on in the right direction.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The doctor’s report lands in Foggy’s inbox a week later. He and Jessica Jones have made some progress with witnesses; less with Wilson Fisk. A visit to Rikers mid-week had been less than encouraging, with Murdock still tired and beaten up and protesting he was fine.</p>
<p>He opens the email with trepidation. It has the potential to make or break the case – or leave them in much the same position they currently are.</p>
<p>There’s an attachment, which Foggy clicks. It’s several pages long. He starts reading.</p>
<p>The doctor has been thorough. There are scanned pictures where he has marked every scar and every injury on Murdock’s body, and notes about the injuries sustained at Rikers. Foggy is relieved to read that the doctor has established these as defensive in nature.</p>
<p>In the next section, the doctor has assessed Murdock’s sight. “Pupils were non-responsive to light stimuli,” he has written, and Foggy permits himself a mini punch in the air. But there is more.</p>
<p>“Although the patient clearly and demonstrably has zero light perception,” the doctor writes, “he was able to tell me when I was holding my hand up, although not always accurate in how many fingers I was showing. He was also able to track my movements around the examination room. He has clearly learned to compensate for his lack of sight by training other senses to a remarkable degree.”</p>
<p>Foggy reads to the end of the report, prints out a copy, and files both the soft and hard copies, thinking as he does so. In a sense, the report is bad for Murdock, as it shows that his blindness is not necessarily a disability. On the other hand, everything the doctor has said backs up everything Murdock himself has said, demonstrating that he has been absolutely truthful about the way he experiences the world. It’s a fair, accurate assessment of Murdock’s life.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, he thinks it’s worth a shot at using the report to get Murdock into a single cell, at least, so he fires off a quick email to the DA’s office.</p>
<p>The reply comes the following day, and Foggy has to read it three times before he takes it in. The DA has recommended that Murdock be moved off his current wing and into a new one, where he will have a cell to himself.</p>
<p>Foggy whoops, unprofessionally, and then texts Jessica Jones to tell her. She texts back, about 10 minutes later with a simple thumbs-up.</p>
<p>Karen Page is next on the list. “I don’t know how far you’ve got with your digging,” Foggy says, “but he’s being moved, because of the doctor’s report.”</p>
<p>“Which kind of suggests that he should have been better looked after from the start,” says Page. “I’ve found a few other similar cases, and I’m waiting for comment from the DA’s office. Maybe they took that into account too. I’ll let you know if we’re going to run anything. You got a trial date yet?”</p>
<p>“No,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>“Keep me updated,” requests Page, and Foggy, who hadn’t even considered talking to her a week previously, finds himself agreeing. There is something about Karen Page which makes him wants to trust her.</p>
<p>With no date for trial, and most of the witnesses on board, Foggy is distracted by other clients, which at least keeps Hogarth happy. He speaks to Murdock by phone, and establishes that he is sleeping better.</p>
<p>Jessica Jones keeps on trying to dig into Wilson Fisk, and a fortnight later calls Foggy with something that might almost be triumph in her voice. “Got him,” she says, without preamble.</p>
<p>Foggy is busy examining a settlement agreement for a property dispute, and it takes him a moment to connect the dots.</p>
<p>“Got who?” he says, wondering if they’d settled for enough.</p>
<p>“Fisk!” says Jones, irritated. “I found him. He exists. Has a fancy apartment on Seventh and 18th.”</p>
<p>Foggy whistles. He knows how much those places go for.</p>
<p>“You want to see him in person?” she asks. “He’s going to be at some art event, Friday. Gallery in Chelsea. I got you an invite.”</p>
<p>“You’re good,” Foggy acknowledges.</p>
<p>“It’s you and a plus one,” Jones says.</p>
<p>He hesitates. “Do you …”</p>
<p>“Me?” She snorts. “Nah, if you want me to keep on surveilling him it wouldn’t do any good if I met him. Take your girlfriend. Couple of lawyers looking for art, it’s perfectly normal. There’ll be champagne.”</p>
<p>Marci, when Foggy runs the idea past her, is enthusiastic, and on Friday evening dresses up in her best dress and heels. She looks amazing. Foggy wishes they didn’t have to go out.</p>
<p>Their names are on the guest list and there are waiters circulating with glasses of champagne and canapés. The gallery is small but the art expensive – Foggy looks at the price of one picture, a vast splash of red, and nearly chokes on his spring roll. Marci, of course, is in her element, charming the older men who pay her compliments and gushing over the dresses the women are wearing. Foggy feels rather out of his depth.</p>
<p>The exhibition’s curator is an elegant woman in a white dress, who takes one look at them and addresses herself to Marci, introducing herself as Vanessa Mariana. Obviously Foggy is not the sort to be interested in art. They are discussing the merits of the red painting when Mariana is interrupted by one of her assistants, and she makes her apologies and crosses the room.</p>
<p>Foggy watches her. The man who has just entered, and who the curator has gone to greet, is a massive bull of a man. His suit is impeccably cut and fits him well, but he wears it like armour against the world somehow. Foggy pulls Marci around the room, and hears the curator say, “I’m glad you could come, Mr Fisk”.</p>
<p>He snags another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sips it while examining Fisk. He does not look like a crime lord, or at least not how Foggy has always imagined a crime lord – his views, perhaps, influenced by the movies. On the other hand, he does not look quite like a businessman either; there’s something in the way he stands, the way he moves. It’s quite fascinating.</p>
<p>Fisk has come to the party with a couple of other men. There’s a tall, dark, youngish man who looks somewhat like a lawyer, and a smaller, older fellow with glasses who looks vaguely familiar. Foggy nudges Marci and asks her, and after a moment she nods.</p>
<p>“He’s an accountant. I think he came to one of Hogarth’s client parties. Weird name. It’ll come to me.”</p>
<p>“Or Jessica can dig it up,” Foggy says. He grins at Marci. “Hey, we’ve actually found something out.”</p>
<p>Marci tugs his elbow and pulls him away to study a painting. “Let’s not make it too obvious that we’re watching them, hey, Fogs?”</p>
<p>Fisk does not stay long. After only quarter of an hour he is gone, whisking away Vanessa Mariana and his entourage with him. Foggy and Marci stay a little longer, and then head home.</p>
<p>Three days later, Foggy is at Rikers for an overdue meeting with Matt Murdock. They’re in the visitors’ room again, separated by glass, but as Murdock arrives – escorted again by guards – Foggy is pleased to see that he looks much, much healthier. The bruises have cleared up, his hands are free of scabs, and generally he just seems brighter. Foggy decides not to comment on it, and instead starts with, “so we found Wilson Fisk.”</p>
<p>Murdock’s shoulders tense and he turns his head so he’s pretty much facing Foggy.</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>Foggy describes Fisk, and the party at the gallery. Murdock nods.</p>
<p>“So he has a vulnerability. Good. I can use that.”</p>
<p>“You’re in prison.”</p>
<p>“Later,” Murdock says, dismissing the part about him being in Rikers. “But he likes that woman. Maybe more. That gives me something to work with. Thanks. Tell Miss Jones thanks, too.”</p>
<p>“I think she’ll hit me if I call her Miss Jones,” Foggy observes, and Murdock actually smiles. It’s a nice smile, a genuine one, and it makes Foggy smile back.</p>
<p>“She’s … she’s pretty unique,” Murdock says, and lifts his head. “Seriously, Foggy. Thank you, for … well.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Foggy says. “We’re not out of the woods yet, you know.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Murdock shrugs. “But … thanks.”</p>
<p>“Do you need anything?” Foggy asks, as time is running out. “Erm, a book?”</p>
<p>“Have you seen the size of a Braille book?” Murdock responds. “Actually I’ve been able to check a couple of audiobooks from the library here. I’d really love a shirt that doesn’t itch, but,” he plucks at his faded t-shirt, “beggars can’t be choosers. I’m … I’m better. I’m doing better.” He pauses. “There’s just one thing, actually. Would you ask Father Lantom to remember me, in his prayers? Tell him I miss talking to him?”</p>
<p>Foggy nods, and then remembers there’s no way Murdock can tell he’s nodding through the glass. “Sure,” he says. “I’d be happy to. He makes a great coffee.”</p>
<p>The doors open and the bell rings for the end of visiting. “Yeah,” Murdock agrees. “Yeah, he does.”</p>
<p>When Foggy makes it over to Murdock’s church, late on Friday afternoon, Father Lantom seems pleased to see him. They sit and talk for a while over a cup of the priest’s coffee, and Foggy leaves feeling peaceful and calm.</p>
<p>He’s on his way to the subway when his phone rings; it’s Karen Page. She sounds excited.</p>
<p>“I have some comment from the DA about treatment of prisoners with special needs,” she says. “We’re running it tomorrow. But we’re leaving your client’s name out of it, as the case hasn’t gone to trial yet, we’ll just say ‘a blind man accused of serious crimes’. But also, I’ve been tracking police activity these last weeks. Did you know the crime rate in Hell’s Kitchen has risen by 31 per cent since your client was arrested?”</p>
<p>“I did not,” says Foggy. “You got some data on that you can send me?”</p>
<p>“Yes I do,” Page says, triumphantly. “So the disability story is tomorrow, and we’re running the crime rate story on Monday morning. I won’t link it to him,” she adds quickly, “but I do have comment from a few storekeepers and the like who’ve noticed Daredevil has been out of action.”</p>
<p>Foggy allows himself a mini fist-pump, despite the fact he’s now standing on a subway platform waiting for a train. “You are brilliant,” he tells her.</p>
<p>“I know,” Page agrees. “Buy the <em>Bulletin</em> tomorrow, and Monday. No trial date yet?”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Foggy says, “but I suspect we’re starting to make enough noise they’ll want to hurry it up and give me less time to prepare. I’ll let you know.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” says Page.</p>
<p>“Thank <em>you</em>,” Foggy returns, hanging up as his train screeches into the platform.</p>
<p>The <em>Bulletin </em>stories run, as Page promises, the following week. They are fair and accurate. Foggy spends downtime between other clients fine-tuning his planned approach to the trial; Jessica keeps in touch and sends him what she’s found on police corner-cutting. She also finds the name of Fisk’s accountant: Leland Owlsley. He works at a reputable firm in Manhattan. There is no sign they are involved in anything nefarious, but, Foggy supposes, good criminals are skilled at hiding their tracks.</p>
<p>Another week goes by, and then the email lands that Foggy has been both hoping for and dreading. <em>People vs Matthew Michael Murdock </em>has been given a date, one month on, with jury selection the previous week. Foggy saves the dates in his calendar, texts Jessica Jones and Karen Page, and takes a deep breath. Time to focus.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>“My name’s Franklin Nelson,” he introduces himself, “and I was born in Hell’s Kitchen. My parents had a hardware store, and a deli. My client, Matthew Murdock, was also born in Hell’s Kitchen, not that far away from me. Hell’s Kitchen’s our home, and seeing it torn to shreds by the gangs has hurt. Me – I walked away, I got a job at a fancy law firm in Midtown. Mr Murdock,” he gestures back to where Murdock is sitting, “didn’t.”</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The trial begins! Fair warning - I have researched NY criminal procedure as best I can but at the end of the day this is fic in a universe where remarkable things happen to people, so please forgive any wonkiness with the legal stuff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jury selection for the trial takes a week. It turns out people in New York have views, strongly held ones, on vigilantism. Foggy asks to keep most of those in favour, the DA’s office disagrees; the DA’s office wants those against, Foggy objects. He objects, too, to anyone expressing strong views on disabilities – he wants his jurors to have an open mind.</p>
<p>The judge gets increasingly cranky with them all, but eventually they end up with the 12 men and women who will decide Murdock’s fate. Foggy’s about as happy as he could be with the list; it’s diverse, and he thinks there are a couple of strong characters who might swing their way and influence the other jurors when it comes to deliberation.</p>
<p>He’s spent plenty of time since the date was fixed with Murdock, going over their arguments, practising Murdock’s testimony. Foggy’s pretty sure that if Murdock manages to keep his temper under control it could all go well, though there’s a risk that something will distract him and cause him to lose focus.</p>
<p>Foggy has been back to Murdock’s apartment to fetch a suit – Murdock’s only suit, in fact, but at least it’s fairly well-cut and sober, in a dark grey. There was a slightly larger selection of ties, and Foggy went with one in a slightly darker grey than the suit, and finished the whole thing off with a white shirt with buttons at the collar. He wants Murdock to look like the lawyer he might have been, and not like the vigilante the DA will portray him as or as a convict.</p>
<p>The night before the trial Foggy can’t sleep, and he gets up at 2am to review his files again. Marci finds him in the morning slumped over his laptop, and wakes him with a kiss and a coffee.</p>
<p>“Morning, Foggy Bear,” she says. “It’s 7am.”</p>
<p>“Ugh,” says Foggy, and then surfaces into awareness. “Oh.”</p>
<p>He drinks the coffee, showers, eats the eggs Marci has cooked for him, and packs up his things. He feels as nervous as he’s ever felt on going to court – more nervous, really. This is his case, and there’s a lot riding on it for Murdock and for himself.</p>
<p>When he’s brought into court, Murdock looks good. He looks like he’s slept, and he seems calm as he takes his seat next to Foggy.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Foggy says, and “hey,” Murdock replies.  </p>
<p>“You ready?” Foggy asks, and Murdock gives a little shrug.</p>
<p>“I guess. More to the point, perhaps, are you?”</p>
<p>Foggy says, with all the conviction he can muster, “sure”. Murdock’s expression tightens a little, and Foggy adds, “I’m telling the truth! I’m just nervous.”</p>
<p>He is saved from having to defend himself further by the judge arriving in court. They stand, and sit again, and the judge invites the assistant DA to make his opening statement.</p>
<p>Foggy rather likes Blake Tower. He’s a good lawyer with a fair reputation, and they could have done a lot worse with the prosecution team. And yet, as Tower launches into his speech, it’s clear the DA is going to fight this every inch of the way.</p>
<p>“The defence will seek to portray the accused as some kind of do-gooder hero,” Tower tells the jury. “They’ll seek to capitalise on his disability and ask you to sympathise with him. But we will prove that Mr Murdock is far from a hero – he’s part of the problem in Hell’s Kitchen. We will prove that he has violently assaulted many people, including some police officers, leaving some with lasting injuries. This is not a peaceful man, nor a man trying to help his fellow citizens. He’s just a man taking out his own anger issues on others.”</p>
<p>Foggy glances at Murdock, who is listening with his head slightly bowed. As Tower finishes what Foggy has to admit was an impressive opener, Murdock lifts his head and turns it towards Foggy. “Jurors aren’t totally convinced,” he murmurs. “Good luck.”</p>
<p>Adjusting his tie, Foggy crosses the court to the jurors.</p>
<p>“My name’s Franklin Nelson,” he introduces himself, “and I was born in Hell’s Kitchen. My parents had a hardware store, and a deli. My client, Matthew Murdock, was also born in Hell’s Kitchen, not that far away from me. Hell’s Kitchen’s our home, and seeing it torn to shreds by the gangs has hurt. Me – I walked away, I got a job at a fancy law firm in Midtown. Mr Murdock,” he gestures back to where Murdock is sitting, “didn’t.”</p>
<p>Foggy pauses, and assesses the reaction so far. He has their attention, which is something. “When Matthew Murdock was just nine years old,” he goes on, “he threw himself in front of an out-of-control truck to save an old man’s life. The resulting chemical spill from the truck’s cargo took away a young boy’s sight and left him in unimaginable agony. You know many nine-year-olds who would have done that? I sure as hell don’t.”</p>
<p>“Language, Mr Nelson,” the judge says, mildly.</p>
<p>“Sorry, your Honour,” Foggy says, but he’s not sorry. “Just a year later Mr Murdock’s father was tragically killed, leaving a ten-year-old kid alone in the world. And yet he did well in school, he got himself a good undergraduate degree, matriculated at Columbia to read law. You’ll hear later how the system failed him, failed to support a brilliant student, and how he ended up back in Hell’s Kitchen, helping folk out. Because all my client really cares about is Hell’s Kitchen – our city – and the good, decent folk who live there. He gives kids Spanish lessons, but doesn’t charge what he should for most of them, because he knows what it’s like to be poor.”</p>
<p>He lets that sink in for a second. He knows he’s made Murdock’s life into something of a sob story, and they’d had several arguments about the approach, but at the end of the day nothing Foggy has said is untrue. “Mr Tower said the city would prove that my client has assaulted many people. Remember he has to prove beyond reasonable doubt that this is the case, and that Mr Murdock carried out assaults for no good reason. I will show you why you can’t make that decision. I’ll show you the people Mr Murdock is helping in the city he loves, and why you need to find him not guilty of all the charges he is facing. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Foggy nods at the jury in a friendly way and goes back to his seat. Murdock reaches out and, briefly, touches his arm. “Good,” he says.</p>
<p>“It’s just the beginning,” says Foggy.</p>
<p>They move on, to prosecution witnesses. Over the next couple of days Tower rolls out a succession of men – for they are all men – who have fallen victim to Murdock’s fists. Most of them are either in prison orange or are not long out of jail. They are good at describing the violence inflicted on them, but under cross-examination, they stutter. Foggy knows Tower will bring out a forensic expert at some point to argue the DNA point, but until then he’s determined to put as much doubt in the jury’s mind that his client actually inflicted the violence claimed.</p>
<p>“Did you get a good look at his face?” he asks one of the witnesses, deep into the afternoon on day two.</p>
<p>“Well, um, I guess not,” the witness says, flashing a helpless look at Tower. “It was dark, see, and he was wearing that mask.”</p>
<p>“So can you be sure that it was my client,” Foggy gestures at Murdock, “who intervened that night?”</p>
<p>“Objection!” Tower tries, but he’s overruled.</p>
<p>Foggy says, “Well?”</p>
<p>The witness scratches his ear. “Um. No. I guess not.”</p>
<p>“No further questions,” Foggy says, and returns to his seat.</p>
<p>By the end of the day he’s feeling pretty positive, but he knows day three will bring the police officer Murdock claims is on Wilson Fisk’s payroll, and then the expert witnesses. He tries to temper Murdock’s expectations as they say goodnight to each other, before Murdock’s led off back to Rikers, but he can’t quite hide from his client how he’s feeling.</p>
<p>On the way out of the courthouse he bumps into Karen Page, who has attended each day of the trial, scribbling in her notebook.</p>
<p>“Miss Page,” he says, seeing her.</p>
<p>“Mr Nelson,” she replies, with a smile and a flick of her golden hair. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“On or off the record?” Foggy queries; he’s not quite so euphoric as to forget she’s a journalist.</p>
<p>“Off,” she says, patting her bag, where she’s just stowed her notebook.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I mean, fairly good, I guess. But the hard bit’s all still to come.”</p>
<p>They walk down the corridor together towards the exit, Page’s heels clicking on the floor. “I’ve got to admit,” she says, “I’m looking forward to hearing what Mr Murdock has to say.”</p>
<p>Foggy holds open the door for her. “Sure you are,” he says. “Well, I have prep to do.”</p>
<p>“I have a story to file,” she agrees. “Have a good night, Mr Nelson.”</p>
<p>She turns left and heads off. Foggy raises his arm for a cab to take him home to the night’s work.  </p>
<p>Tower kicks off in the morning by calling Officer O’Neill, the cop Murdock is accused of having attacked. O’Neill gives an anodyne, safe account of the affair; Murdock says, next to Foggy’s ear, “he’s lying”.</p>
<p>Foggy nods, and touches Murdock’s hand. “I got this,” he says, with more bravado than he’s feeling, and gets up for the cross.</p>
<p>“How long have you been a police officer, Officer O’Neill?” he begins.</p>
<p>O’Neill shrugs. “Eight years, maybe.”</p>
<p>“And do you enjoy the job? How does it make you feel?” Foggy pursues.</p>
<p>“I’m proud to serve the city of New York,” O’Neill says, flatly.</p>
<p>“Does it pay well?” Foggy queries. The question is so left-field that Tower evidently forgets to object. O’Neill looks blank and then shrugs.</p>
<p>“Okay, I guess.”</p>
<p>Foggy goes back to his desk and picks up one of the bits of evidence Jessica Jones had turned up. “Well enough to buy a new car last year?” he says. “Nice to have a convertible for the weekends.” He flips over a page. “And I hope your family enjoyed the vacation you all had in a fancy hotel in Jamaica in the summer.”</p>
<p>“There’s no law against having a vacation,” O’Neill says, but he’s turned slightly red. Foggy sneaks a glance at Murdock, who has a very small smile on his lips as he listens.</p>
<p>“No, but not many cops on seventy-five grand can afford both these things in a year,” Foggy says.</p>
<p>“Objection, your Honour!” puts in Tower, getting to his feet. “This is not pertinent to the case.”</p>
<p>“If you’ll give me a moment?” Foggy says to the judge, and he shrugs and waves a hand.</p>
<p>“Get to the point quickly, Mr Nelson.”</p>
<p>He turns back to O’Neill. “Who were you with, the night my client allegedly attacked you?” he asks.</p>
<p>O’Neill fidgets in his seat. “Just a friend,” he says, and as Foggy looks over his shoulder at Murdock he sees him mouth, “liar”.</p>
<p>“A close friend?” Foggy says. “Funny, that he didn’t give a statement. Could it be that he didn’t want to make himself known to the good people of the NYPD? Or could it be that you didn’t want to be linked to him, because he was in fact your contact for whoever is paying for your cars and vacations?”</p>
<p>“Objection!” Tower repeats. “Speculation.”</p>
<p>“Upheld,” the judge agrees, but Foggy’s work is done. He thinks he’s sown enough doubt in the jury’s minds as to O’Neill’s integrity.</p>
<p>Tower regroups, and calls his first forensic witness, the scientist who had examined the various bits of DNA left at the scenes of the alleged crimes.</p>
<p>“There’s no shortage of this DNA,” he tells Tower, and the jury. “We’ve found blood, skin cells and hair from the same individual at all these scenes. We didn’t have a match for them until the defendant was arrested.”</p>
<p>“What is the certainty that this DNA belongs to Matthew Murdock?” Tower asks.</p>
<p>“There’s a high probability,” the scientist says, “but the process isn’t foolproof. DNA is easily contaminated.”</p>
<p>“But you’re confident that the evidence points towards the defendant?” Tower presses.</p>
<p>“Yes,” says the scientist.</p>
<p>Foggy gets up. “You said DNA evidence is easily contaminated. Can you explain how?”</p>
<p>“DNA degrades quickly, and samples can be contaminated,” the scientist acknowledges. “Many of these scenes were alleyways or streets in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not a laboratory environment, after all.”</p>
<p>“So you can’t be 100 per cent certain the DNA is a match?” Foggy says.</p>
<p>“Not 100 per cent, no,” the scientist agrees.</p>
<p>It’s not perfect, but it’s something. Foggy sits down again.  </p>
<p>The final witness for the prosecution is the doctor who examined Murdock at Rikers. Foggy’s almost surprised he’s been called, given the report he filed, but he guesses Tower is going to lean heavily on Murdock’s abilities, rather than his disabilities. He’s right.</p>
<p>Tower takes the doctor carefully through his findings, lingering on the reports of Murdock’s many scars.</p>
<p>“Some of these are fairly new,” the doctor said, pointing to a sketch projected on the screen by his side. “Some are older – this bullet wound in the left shoulder, for example, is a couple of years old. That would indicate that the subject has been, um, caught up in violence for some time, and these newer injuries sustained while he’s been detained are by no means unusual.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” says Tower, and the smugness in his voice makes Foggy want to punch him, a little bit. “Moving on, Dr Morgan. Mr Murdock is registered blind. Did you find that he is?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“In what way?”</p>
<p>The doctor glances over at Murdock, who as usual is listening with his head slightly bowed, hands clasped below the table. “Mr Murdock has no light perception whatsoever. His pupils did not react to any of the light stimuli I tried.”</p>
<p>“And yet you have already given evidence of injuries he’s sustained, apparently in violent fights. Is he just a very unlucky blind man who keeps getting mugged?”</p>
<p>The watching crowd all laugh. Murdock’s lips tighten, and Foggy murmurs, “it’s okay.”</p>
<p>“My examination showed that Mr Murdock has learned to compensate for lack of sight to an extraordinary degree,” says the doctor. “His spatial awareness and hearing are remarkable. He was easily able to track me around the examination room and indicate where I stood with accuracy. I believe with some training he would therefore be able to defend himself against an attack with, if not ease, some effectiveness.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” says Tower, taking his seat.</p>
<p>“Mr Nelson?” the judge says.</p>
<p>Foggy goes across to the witness stand. “Thank you for your examination and testimony, Dr Morgan. Your report helped bring an end to the multiple attacks Mr Murdock suffered since his arrest, when he was on an open wing in Rikers. I just have a couple of questions. Firstly, what’s your area of expertise again?”</p>
<p>“I’m a general surgeon,” Morgan says. “I’ve practised extensively in ER departments, in particular.”</p>
<p>“Have you done much ophthalmology?” Foggy questions. “Do you have much experience of how blind people compensate for their lack of sight?”</p>
<p>Morgan shifts in his chair. “Not extensive experience, but some.”</p>
<p>“So within the scope of that experience,” Foggy continues, keeping his tone mild, “how good do you think Mr Murdock’s other senses are?”</p>
<p>“It’s, erm, hard to quantify,” Morgan hedges.</p>
<p>Foggy nods. “Fair enough. No more questions.”</p>
<p>He’s got what he needed from the doctor – he’ll follow up later when he calls his own witnesses.</p>
<p>Morgan is the last witness for Tower, and the judge calls an end to the day. On Monday, it’s Foggy’s turn. Before Murdock’s led off back to Rikers, he asks, “honestly, Foggy, how do you think it’s going?”</p>
<p>“As well as I’d hoped for,” Foggy answers, and he knows Murdock will know it’s the truth. “This was never going to be easy, Matt, you know that as well as I do.” He picks up his satchel. “You’re up next week. Try and rest this weekend, yeah?”</p>
<p>Murdock nods. “Sure, counsellor. I’ll do my best.”</p>
<p>Foggy watches him leave, led by one of the guards, and turns the other way. He has a weekend of prep ahead and getting it done matters more than ever. Things are about to get more serious.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Foggy begins his defence with his victims. People like Raffaelle Marino, decent, honest folk who were attacked by criminals and saved by Daredevil. He’s spent a little time coaching them, and they perform well.</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello. This fic lives! I was away for a couple of weeks and though I was optimistically planning to write while away, it didn't happen, but some progress has been made on chapter 8 and therefore I'm giving myself a kick up the backside by posting chapter 7. </p><p>As ever, please forgive any legal procedure mistakes. All I know about US/NY law is learned from watching TV and Google.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Foggy begins his defence with his victims. People like Raffaelle Marino, decent, honest folk who were attacked by criminals and saved by Daredevil. He’s spent a little time coaching them, and they perform well. They make it clear Daredevil came only when the crime had begun, usually soon after they had screamed for help. They say he checked up on them before leaving the scene.</p><p>Tower cross-examines well, but the witnesses hold up under the pressure and Foggy reckons the score is marginally in his favour.</p><p>On day two, it’s character witness time. Father Lantom is first, looking bright-eyed, sober and neat in his black suit and dog collar.</p><p>“Father Lantom, how long have you known Matthew Murdock?” Foggy begins.</p><p>“Since he was a child, although I’ve come to know him best these past couple of years,” the priest says. “He came to the orphanage attached to my church after his father died, and lived there until he went to college. More recently, he’s returned to the church and attends Mass each week.”</p><p>“Did he come to Mass as a child?” Foggy asks, as agreed.</p><p>“He came with his father and his grandmother,” Father Lantom says. “Not every week, but most weeks. And then of course at the orphanage, they come to church regularly.”</p><p>Foggy folds his arms behind his back. “What was Matthew like when he came to the orphanage?” he says.</p><p>Father Lantom takes his time answering, with a look over at Murdock before he does. “Angry,” he says, eventually. “He had nightmares, and he was alone, and to be honest, the nuns didn’t really know how to handle him. They found him a teacher, eventually, who was able to calm him down, but he was still angry. He fought a lot. Didn’t help he was smarter than the other kids, and most of the nuns.” He smiles, fondly. “He wasn’t easy to have around, but he was never malicious. He had a keen sense of what was right and wrong.”</p><p>“And what do you make of his character now?” Foggy continues.</p><p>“Matthew is a man of deep faith,” Father Lantom says. “If anything, his faith has grown over the years, and despite the troubles of his life. He is still very much concerned with the idea of justice and what is morally the right thing to do.” He pauses, and once again looks at Murdock, before turning back to Foggy. “He’s a good man.”</p><p>“Thank you, Father,” says Foggy. “No further questions.”</p><p>Tower comes forwards, adjusting his tie. “You seem very sure that Mr Murdock is a good man, Father.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“And yet we have strong evidence positioning him as the perpetrator of violence,” Tower says, “but maybe he’s talked about that with you.”</p><p>“The sanctity of the confessional is absolute,” Father Lantom reminds Tower. “As for violence, religion throughout history has been incredibly violent. Wars have been fought over religion, and I could quote you many Bible verses supporting the use of violence in the right circumstances.”</p><p>Rubbing his nose, Tower has to visibly shift tack. Next to Foggy, Murdock smiles.</p><p>“You said Mr Murdock was an angry boy,” Tower says. “Is he an angry man?”</p><p>“You’ll have to ask him that, when he takes the stand,” Lantom says, calmly. “Yes, he was an angry child. I think most would be, in the circumstances.”</p><p>Tower asks a few more questions; the priest bats them away, and is dismissed.</p><p>Next to the stand, it’s Johnny Fogwell. The old man is helped to his seat by a police officer, and he’s carrying a stick. He takes the oath firmly and clearly.</p><p>“Thanks for coming, Mr Fogwell,” says Foggy. “Why don’t you tell us how you know Matthew Murdock?”</p><p>“His dad boxed at my gym,” Fogwell explains. “I own a boxing gym in the Kitchen – these days, my nephews look after it for me, but when Jack Murdock was fightin’ it was the most popular boxing gym around.”</p><p>“So Mr Murdock’s dad was a fighter?” Foggy asks.</p><p>Fogwell laughs. “Hell yeah. Battlin’ Jack Murdock, they called him. Tough son of a …” he hesitates, clearly remembering he’s in a courtroom, and says instead, “he was tough. And he loved that kid. Matty would come along when Jack was training, and do his homework, even after the accident.”</p><p>Foggy lets this sink in with the jury before continuing. “What did you make of Matthew Murdock, back then?”</p><p>“Kid was as tough as his dad,” Fogwell says. “And smart, too. Why, it was only a month or so after the accident that he’d be hauling in great thick Braille books and rattling right through them. Jack always said he wanted his kid to use his brains, not his fists.”</p><p>At the table, Murdock’s head is bowed. Foggy turns his attention back to Fogwell. “Did Mr Murdock ever take any boxing lessons?”</p><p>“Nah,” says Fogwell, shaking his head. “Like I said, Jack never wanted the kid to be a fighter. But he watched, before the accident. Watched pretty close.”</p><p>“And after Jack Murdock’s death?” Foggy prompts.</p><p>Fogwell sighs. “Bad business. Really bad. After Jack died, Matthew was taken off to that orphanage. Never saw him at the gym.”</p><p>“So when did you last see Mr Murdock?” asks Foggy.</p><p>“‘Bout two years ago,” Fogwell explains. “He asked me if he could use the gym out of hours.”</p><p>“Did you wonder why he wanted to go out of hours?” Foggy says, and Fogwell shakes his head.</p><p>“No. Didn’t matter to me. I was just glad to see the kid doing okay,” the old man says.</p><p>Foggy thanks him, and sits down. “You all right?” he asks Murdock, softly, and Murdock nods, but there’s a tear streak down his cheek that Foggy decides not to mention.</p><p>Tower is honing in on the night-time gym sessions. “You were happy just to let a blind man into a boxing gym, unsupervised?” he asks Fogwell.</p><p>“Matty can’t see, but he’s perfectly capable of getting around,” Fogwell retorts, sharpness in his tone. “Besides, worst that could happen was he’d stub his toe on something, and he got around the place fine when he was a kid.”</p><p>“But you’d never seen him box?” Tower pursues.</p><p>“I guessed he’d taken it up after his dad died,” says Fogwell. “Like I told Mr Nelson, I was just glad to see Matty doing okay. Us Hell’s Kitchen folk look out for our own, y’know?”</p><p>Tower gives up, and sits down. The judge checks the time, and ends the session.</p><p>Before Murdock is taken back to prison for the night, Foggy catches his arm. “You’re up tomorrow, Matt. Get some sleep if you can?”</p><p>“You too,” Murdock says, smiling a little.</p><p>But Foggy cannot sleep, or not much. When he does get to sleep he wakes only an hour later, the sheets twisted about him, with vague memories of a nightmare in which Murdock began punching the judge. Marci laughs about it, kisses him, tells him not to worry, and dozes straight back off herself, leaving Foggy lying awake and nervous for most of the rest of the night.</p><p>He must still be radiating some kind of nervous energy the next day, because it’s Murdock who ends up calming Foggy down rather than the other way around as they meet for a brief chat, down in the cells below the courtroom. Murdock looks calm and collected and assures Foggy he has remembered his lines.</p><p>On the way up to the courtroom Foggy bumps into Karen Page, which doesn’t do anything to help his nerves.</p><p>“So,” she says. “Big day. I’m looking forward to seeing what he has to say.”</p><p>Foggy manages a smile and a nod. Page lets out a laugh. “You look terrified,” she says. “You’ll be fine.”</p><p>“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Foggy confesses.</p><p>He doesn’t get to speak to Murdock again before the day begins; as a witness, he will be brought in via a different entrance. But as he’s coming in, Foggy looks down at his papers and says, “okay, Matt, time to be brilliant.”</p><p>When he looks up, Murdock’s head is tilted at him, and Foggy thinks he sees the other man give him a slight nod.</p><p>Foggy marshalls his thoughts, and gets up.</p><p>“Mr Murdock,” he says, coming over to the witness stand, “let’s start by you telling us about yourself. What was your life like when you were growing up?”</p><p>Murdock, manacled hands folded neatly before him, takes a moment before answering. “Tough, I guess, but I didn’t know any better. My dad brought me up, mostly; my grandmother helped out some before she passed away when I was, um, seven.”</p><p>“Your grandmother was your father’s mother?” Foggy prompts, for the jury’s benefit.</p><p>“Yeah. I never knew my mom,” Murdock says. “She left when I was a baby. My dad said she couldn’t handle having a kid. My grandmother always told me it was because the Murdock boys had the Devil in them.”</p><p>In preparation, they’d debated whether or not to use this point. Foggy is worried it somehow suggests that Murdock chose the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen persona deliberately, even though he can also prove it was coined by social media and the papers. Murdock disagrees, and won the argument by pointing out his grandmother’s views pushed him towards the Church.</p><p>“What did she mean by that?” Foggy queries.</p><p>“She didn’t like my dad boxing,” Murdock says, “and she hated when I talked back to her. She was pretty religious. She blamed my dad for my mom leaving us. I … I don’t think she really enjoyed having to look after me.”</p><p>There are murmurs of sympathy from a couple of the female jurors.</p><p>“Okay,” says Foggy, “so let’s move on to the accident you had. What happened that day?”</p><p>“I was on my way to the store for some candy,” Murdock said. “I’d done well in a test and my dad had given me a couple of bucks to treat myself.”</p><p>“Your dad wasn’t there?” Foggy says.</p><p>“I’d run ahead, and I think he stopped to talk to someone,” Murdock said, “but he trusted me to get to the store and back on my own in any case. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I do remember hearing the brakes on the truck and seeing this old guy step out into the road, and I just reacted. I pushed him out of the way, and then the truck crashed and … and everything hurt.”</p><p>“Do you know what happened?”</p><p>“I was told afterwards the truck was carrying barrels of chemicals,” Murdock says, “and they spilled and splashed me in the face.”</p><p>“What was the last thing you remember seeing?” asks Foggy, gently.</p><p>“My dad’s face,” Murdock replies, his voice low.</p><p>One of the jurors tries to dab unobtrusively at her eyes, and Foggy suppresses an urge to cheer. It is way too early for that. He moves on, asking Murdock what it felt like to wake up in hospital.</p><p>“Overwhelming,” says Murdock, simply. “Like I was drowning in a sea of sensation.”</p><p>Foggy nods, then remembers nodding is not helpful, and encourages Murdock to go on. This is the crux of their case; to show the scale of what Murdock lives through and how it has affected his attitude to the world.</p><p>“The sheets felt like sandpaper, to start with,” Murdock says, “and there was so much noise. Beeps of all the machines, and people talking, and just the sound of them <em>being</em>. And the smells, they were overwhelming. Bleach, and blood, and vomit, and sweat. I didn’t know what was happening.”</p><p>“It sounds tough,” Foggy says, in the understatement of the year. “How did you deal with it? Did you explain to someone what was happening?”</p><p>Murdock shakes his head. “I tried, once, to talk to my dad, but he didn’t get it. I just clung to him – what he sounded like, what he smelled like, how he felt – and that got me through. He grounded me, I guess. If he was out, I couldn’t sleep; I used to lie awake listening to the city around me. It was only when he got back I felt properly safe again.”</p><p>Foggy half-turns to face the jury. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You’re a nine-year-old kid, newly blinded, facing a new world, and your dad leaves you on your own?”</p><p>“Only when he was at matches,” Murdock says, a touch defensively. “He was a good dad. I want everyone to know that. He was the best dad I could have asked for.”</p><p>“So,” says Foggy, moving on as planned, “what happened, the night your dad was killed?”</p><p>Murdock talks them through listening to the fight with Creel, and the joy he felt when Jack Murdock won. “Then I sat at the kitchen table and waited for him. I might have gone to sleep a while. I woke up when I heard the shot, ran to find him …” his head drops. “He was already gone.”</p><p>“How far away from your house was he killed?” Foggy questions.</p><p>“Three blocks,” Murdock says promptly.  </p><p>“And you are sure you heard the shot from inside your house?”</p><p>“Quite sure,” says Murdock, firmly, head up and turned slightly towards the jury.</p><p>Foggy nods, and with his hand over his mouth murmurs, “good job, Matt, keep it up”. He coughs as though clearing his throat, and carries on.</p><p>“After your dad died, what happened next?”</p><p>Murdock describes moving to the orphanage, and the arrival of the man he calls Stick, and the start of his training. He’s pretty matter of fact about it and Foggy worries that the jury aren’t quite getting the import of the fact that the people trusted with a boy’s care let him go off with a random blind ninja for hours on end. But then he glances over at them, and sees the look in some of their eyes, and realises that yeah, they are getting it.</p><p>“When, er, Stick left,” Foggy says, after Murdock has described this, “how did it make you feel?”</p><p>It takes Murdock a while to reply, even though they’ve rehearsed this too. Foggy knows there’s a lot of complex feelings involved with Stick which he doesn’t think Murdock has worked through, and probably never will. Eventually, he says, “abandoned. Alone. He was the only person I could ever really talk to about how I see the world.”</p><p>That’s all Foggy is going to get on the subject. They move swiftly through to college, where Murdock provides a succinct, emotionless description of the lack of support he received and how he dropped out of Columbia, travelled with his girlfriend, and came home to Hell’s Kitchen.</p><p>“Why did you come back?” Foggy asks.</p><p>“This city, it’s a part of me,” says Murdock, shrugging. “Without it, I felt lost.”</p><p>The next questions are crucial to their case, but Foggy knows they could break it just as well as make it. He’s asking Murdock to justify being Daredevil in open court, and if the jury don’t buy the defence, a long sentence could await. He takes a deep breath and knows Murdock can hear his heart hammering in his chest.</p><p>“Tell the court about the day you first put on a mask,” he invites, and prays that Murdock will stick to the script.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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  <i>The court is silent, everyone waiting for Murdock to reply. He takes his time, as Foggy has suggested he should.</i>
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          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to those who commented on the last chapter (or gave kudos), especially Heisey for interesting legal thoughts. Hopefully I've avoided too many more legal hiccups in this one!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The court is silent, everyone waiting for Murdock to reply. He takes his time, as Foggy has suggested he should.</p><p>“I tried going through the right channels,” he says, eventually. “There was a family, down the street from my place. Dad, mom, girl about eleven. The dad … he would go to his kid’s room at night. She cried. So I … I called child protection, but they didn’t do anything.</p><p>“I started following the dad, and one night I got him alone, and – well, warned him off hurting his kid again,” Murdock says.</p><p>“By warned him off, what do you mean?” Foggy says.</p><p>“I, um, punched him in the face a few times,” Murdock admits. “He never touched the girl again.”</p><p>“After that?” Foggy presses, gently.</p><p>“After that it was like I could hear everything that was wrong in the city. Every night, people crying, people screaming, people asking for help and nobody giving it,” Murdock says. “So I tried to help. That’s all, really. I couldn’t sit in my apartment and hear those cries and do <em>nothing</em>.”</p><p>“Did you ever call the police?” asks Foggy. If he doesn’t ask this, Tower will.</p><p>“Yeah, at first,” Murdock says. “A couple of times someone went out and was in time to help. Mostly, they either didn’t follow up on my call, or they were too late. I had to do something. I just … had to. Anything I’ve done, it’s to help people who needed help.”</p><p>Foggy isn’t done with his questions, but the judge raises his hand and says, “we will continue after lunch. Thank you.”</p><p>The court rises, and everyone files out in their turn. Foggy gathers up his files and, avoiding Tower, leaves. The recess gives him an ideal opportunity to catch up with his client, who he knows will be having lunch in the holding cells below the courtroom. He’s on his way down there when Karen Page appears, notebook firmly in hand.</p><p>“I can’t talk,” Foggy says, pausing.</p><p>“I know,” she says, “but, you know … he’s … well.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Foggy agrees. “He is.”</p><p>He carries on, down to the cells, where Murdock is grimacing at the sandwich he’s been given. It looks pretty processed and Foggy isn’t sure even he would eat it, so it’s not a surprise when Murdock pushes it away and leans back against the concrete wall of the cell, reaching up to take off his shades and rub at his eyes.</p><p>“We’re nearly through,” Foggy reassures him.</p><p>“You’re nearly through. Then I have Tower to contend with,” Murdock points out. “I can already tell he’s going to come down hard. His pulse is racing.”</p><p>Foggy sits down on the bench next to Murdock. “Good,” he says. “That means he’s rattled. Means we’re getting somewhere. I think the jury are on your side too, you know.”</p><p>“Some of them, yeah,” Murdock agrees. “Some of them aren’t convinced.”</p><p>“So we convince them,” Foggy says. “We tell them how much pain those guys you helped were in. Lay it on thick, Matt. You got the <em>Bulletin</em> with you, you know. My reporter contact, Karen Page, she’s definitely convinced.”</p><p>“She sitting up in the press gallery?” Murdock asks. “Long hair? She keeps pushing it back behind her ear as she writes.”</p><p>Foggy boggles. “How did you pick that up?”</p><p>“She’s been a constant throughout the trial,” the other man explains, slipping his shades back on. “I got to recognise those people who are there every day, that’s all.”</p><p>“I will never not find this weird,” Foggy tells Murdock, “but you know that already. Right, let’s run over what we’ve got coming up.”</p><p>The lunch break over, they get back into court and carry on. Foggy takes Murdock carefully through each of the charges against him, getting him to clarify exactly what he sensed from each of those people he was trying to save. Murdock has a good memory, and describes the situations clearly and calmly. It is a solid, secure performance and when Foggy at last sits down he’s confident they’ve done all they can.</p><p>Blake Tower takes his time standing up, adjusting his tie and jacket, and approaching the witness stand. “Mr Murdock,” he says. “If I may run through a few points from your testimony.”</p><p>Murdock half-nods his head, and Tower consults his notes. “Going back to the evening your father passed,” Tower says, “you told the court that you heard the shot from your apartment.” He holds up a map to the jury. “For Mr Murdock’s benefit, I’m showing the jury a map of your childhood home and the alleyway where your father was found dead,” he explains. “You told us it was three blocks. That’s three blocks east of your apartment. They’re long blocks in Hell’s Kitchen. Do you still maintain you heard the shot?”</p><p>“Yes,” Murdock says, his shades almost staring directly at Tower. “Yes, I heard the shot.”</p><p>“How did you know it was your father?” Tower asks.</p><p>Murdock shrugs. “I didn’t, exactly, not at that moment. But he wasn’t home, and there was a shot, and then I heard the cops arrive, so I followed the sirens and then I knew it was him.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>Somehow Murdock manages to direct a look of pity and scorn at Tower, despite the shades. Foggy wants to applaud. “Even people with ordinary senses know what their loved ones smell like, Mr Tower. I’d been close to my dad enough times when he came home from a fight. And once I got up to him I could feel his face.”</p><p>Foggy lowers his head to hide his grin. Tower adjusts his tie and shoots an irritated glance at his assistant, who shrugs and scribbles some notes.</p><p>“Why do you wear a mask, Mr Murdock?” Tower says, changing the subject from Jack Murdock’s murder. “If all you want to do is help folk, why hide yourself?”</p><p>It’s a good question. It’s one Foggy asked Murdock himself, during one of their prep sessions.</p><p>“I grew up in the city,” Murdock says to Tower, as he’d said to Foggy. “People know me as Jack Murdock’s blind kid, the one who dropped out of college and tutors in Spanish. Explaining …” he waves his hand in front of his face, “explaining all this, to the people I knew, just seemed too hard. In the mask I’m not the blind man who people think they should feel sorry for.”</p><p>Tower folds his arms. “You didn’t think about how it might look? That vigilantism, never mind assault, is a felony?”</p><p>“I don’t know how it looks,” Murdock says, and Foggy sees a couple of jurors repress quick smiles. “I stand by what I said before, Mr Tower. I’m only helping those who need help, who can’t defend themselves, and I can’t sit at home every night listening to the screams and not do something about it.”</p><p>“Do you like hurting the people you attack?” Tower asks.</p><p>“Keep it together, Matt,” Foggy whispers, because he can see Murdock’s jaw beginning to tense. He’s been doing so well, and the fact Tower might be starting to get under his skin is not a surprise, but Foggy knows Murdock could still derail his defence if he gets angry.</p><p>Murdock lifts his head and does that slight head-tilt thing at Tower; Foggy guesses his fists are clenched under the dock, but nobody can see that.</p><p>“I get a certain comfort from helping the people I help,” Murdock says, which is not quite an answer to Tower’s question. Tower points this out.</p><p>“I don’t like or dislike it,” Murdock says, after a pause. “It happens.”</p><p>“Some of your victims have lasting injuries,” Tower says.</p><p>“Some of their victims have lasting injuries too,” Murdock returns, quickly.</p><p>Foggy wishes Murdock could see Tower’s expression, although he expects he can hear whatever Tower’s breathing and heart are doing, which is probably the same thing. Tower takes a breath, and then looks at the judge.</p><p>“No further questions, your Honour,” he says, and sits down.</p><p>The judge puts the cap on his pen. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he says. “I suggest we call an end to proceedings for today. Closing arguments will commence on Monday.”</p><p>The court rises. Foggy gathers his things together, and catches Tower’s eyes as they both prepare to head out. Tower gives him a wry nod, and Foggy nods back. Both of them know today went well for Murdock; Foggy can’t wait to hear how Tower will sum up.</p><p>He doesn’t manage to see Murdock before he is bundled into the van and driven back to Riker’s. Karen Page hurries past in the corridor, waves at him and mouths “deadline!” So Foggy goes home, feeling drained, and showers, and when Marci comes back from work she takes one look at him and tells him off for working on his closing.</p><p>“Food, and TV, and rest. You’ve got all weekend,” she orders.</p><p>Foggy gives into her, and then spends most of the next two days frowning over his notes and at the screen of his laptop. He wants to make this the best closing statement he’s ever given. He feels it owes it to Murdock. Hell, he owes it to himself, and probably to his career.</p><p>He can’t eat breakfast on Monday morning, but gets a coffee inside him, and when he takes his seat in the courtroom he feels alert and ready to face Tower. Murdock, when brought in, looks calm.</p><p>“I never got a chance to say good job last week,” Foggy says, as they wait for the judge. “How was your weekend?”</p><p>Murdock gives him a half-smile. “Well, I broke the boxing bag in the prison gym, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Broke it? How?”</p><p>“It kind of fell down from the ceiling,” says Murdock. “I kicked it. Um, hard. It’s fine, they got someone else to put it back up again.”</p><p>“Right,” Foggy says. “Hopefully you won’t need to break it again after today.”</p><p>“You got it, counsellor,” Murdock says. “Can’t wait to hear your closing.”</p><p>That just makes Foggy’s stomach lurch a little, and evidently Murdock hears that, because he offers up another smile.</p><p>Tower looks confident as he gets to his feet and faces the jury, and Foggy wonders how much is bravado and how much is actual confidence in the case.</p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard a lot of witnesses in the last couple of weeks,” Tower says. “You’ve heard Mr Nelson over there seek to portray the defendant as some kind of hero, out to help folk in need, as if that excuses his actions – his admitted actions – in taking the law into his own hands and aggressing the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.</p><p>“Mr Murdock is trained in lethal force and he’s shown he’s repeatedly willing to use that lethal force with no regard for the laws of this state,” Tower continues. “He’s had a fair trial here, the fair trial he doesn’t want to give his victims, the people he claims are criminals. The only verdict you should safely return, ladies and gentlemen, is guilty on all counts. Thank you.”</p><p>It’s one of the shortest closing statements Foggy can remember hearing. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it means he’s up, already. Picking up his notes, he goes to stand in front of the jurors.</p><p>“Mr Tower was right,” he begins. “You’ve heard from a lot of people in this courtroom. I’d urge you to consider carefully which ones you trust. Do you trust the convicted drug dealers and robbers, or do you trust the parish priest and the normal folk of Hell’s Kitchen?”</p><p>He pauses a beat. “My client, Matthew Murdock, says he can hear when someone’s telling the truth, because he hears their hearts beating. Consider that, ladies and gentlemen. Imagine going through your life having that kind of knowledge about the people around you. Imagine being ten years old and hearing your father get shot. Imagine being twenty-six years old and hearing your neighbour be abused by her own father. If you can say you’d stand by and do nothing in that situation, well, maybe you should consider the type of person you are.”</p><p>Foggy looks over the jurors. He has their attention. “Mr Murdock has pleaded not guilty to the charges laid before the court, because he is not guilty of assault for the sake of assault. If he’d gone out and decided to attack innocent people for the love of violence, you would be in the right to find him guilty.</p><p>“Instead, he is defending those who cannot defend themselves; those without the skills he himself has. Put yourself in the shoes of those who testified in Mr Murdock’s defence, and ask yourself: would you rather the criminals who were menacing their safety be in jail, or my client? There is only one possible verdict you should return, and that is not guilty. If he is locked up, the streets of Hell’s Kitchen will be more dangerous for it. The <em>New York Bulletin</em> has already found that crime has risen since my client’s arrest.”</p><p>Foggy glances at his notes. “You heard from people who believe and are right to believe that Mr Murdock saved their lives. You heard from people who say they sleep at night because they know Daredevil’s out there looking after the Kitchen. You heard from Mr Murdock’s priest, who knows him maybe better than anyone, and who has no doubt that my client is a good man. I ask you again: who do you trust of the witnesses you’ve heard?”</p><p>Some of the jurors meet his eyes, others study their hands, a couple are making notes. Taking a breath, Foggy goes for what he hopes is the killing blow. “Many people, faced with the challenges my client has faced in his life, would have turned to crime, or laziness, or blamed others for their misfortunes. Instead, Matthew Murdock spends his days helping kids learn and his nights helping the folk who need help. He’s not guilty of assault. If he’s guilty of anything, it’s of caring too much about others and not enough about himself.”</p><p>He checks his notes. “That’s all I have to say. Thank you.”</p><p>Foggy goes back to his seat, feeling like a weight has lifted from his shoulders. He’s done all he can do, and now it’s up to the 12 men and women of the jury to decide Murdock’s fate.</p><p>The judge gives the jury their instructions and then sends them off to the jury room. Murdock is taken off to the holding cells in the court and Foggy, after going to grab a couple of sandwiches, goes down to see him.</p><p>“Well, now we just gotta wait,” he says, handing Murdock a sandwich. Murdock opens it and sits there with the food on his lap.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, and then, “Foggy, I want to thank you. For taking my case on. I know you didn’t have to.”</p><p>“We haven’t won it yet,” Foggy says, around his sandwich.</p><p>Murdock shakes his head. “No, and we may still not. I think we got most of the jury, but not all.”</p><p>“A mistrial wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Foggy says. “I don’t think Tower would press for a retrial.”</p><p>“The thing is,” Murdock says, “I … I still want to thank you. Before the verdict. In case.”</p><p>Foggy tries to pretend he’s not a bit choked up, but thinks he has failed miserably. He thumps Murdock lightly on the arm. “Pleasure,” he says. “Here’s the deal, Matt. If we lose, we’ll win the appeal, and in the meantime I’ll come and visit you. If we win or there’s a mistrial, you get to visit for dinner. And at least <em>meet</em> Karen Page, because I think you’d like her, even if you won’t agree to an interview.”</p><p>Murdock picks a piece of tomato out of his sandwich. “Deal,” he says, and he’s smiling a little.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>The jury deliberates for the rest of the day and throughout Tuesday. Foggy tries to work on other matters while he waits for a verdict, but makes little headway.</i>
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    <p>The jury deliberates for the rest of the day and throughout Tuesday. Foggy tries to work on other matters while he waits for a verdict, but makes little headway. A long deliberation means the jury can’t reach a unanimous verdict easily. Or, as Marci points out when he calls her at lunchtime, they’re just being thorough about reviewing all the evidence.</p><p>By four in the afternoon of Tuesday Foggy thinks they’re in for another sleepless night of waiting, but then the summons comes for court to reconvene. His hands are sweaty as he heads in, and looking at Tower he thinks he sees the same nerves on his face. Murdock, by contrast, looks collected when he’s brought in, and he shrugs when Foggy asks how he can be so calm.</p><p>“What happens, happens,” he says. “It’s out of our hands now.”</p><p>The judge and jury file in and the forewoman gets to her feet.</p><p>“Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asks, and the forewoman nods.</p><p>“Yes, Your Honour,” she says, flicking a glance towards Foggy and Murdock.</p><p>“Is that verdict unanimous?” the judge queries.</p><p>“Yes, Your Honour,” the forewoman confirms. The butterflies in Foggy’s stomach are turning somersaults now. “We find the defendant not guilty on all counts.”</p><p>The butterflies soar. Foggy finds himself grinning stupidly, as the judge orders that Murdock be released and formally ends the trial. By his side, Murdock himself has his head bowed and is showing very little emotion still.</p><p>Tower approaches their side of the court, hand held out, and Foggy stands up and shakes. “Well done, Mr Nelson,” Tower says.</p><p>“Thanks,” Foggy returns. Tower almost seems to be about to say something else, but instead he just nods and turns away.</p><p>“We’re done,” Foggy tells Murdock. “You’re free to go, Matt. Get back to your life.”</p><p>Murdock finally lifts his head. “Yeah. I guess.” He doesn’t look desperately happy about it, and Foggy finds himself already worrying about what that means.</p><p>“Look. I meant what I said, about dinner. Say Saturday night? If you’re not doing … something else?”</p><p>“I can make Saturday night,” Murdock agrees. “Text me a time and address.”</p><p>“Good!” Foggy says. “Great. Now, I think we’ll have to run the gamut of the press on the way out, Matt, I can’t see a way around it. Let me do the talking?”</p><p>Murdock nods, flicks out his cane, and takes Foggy’s right elbow in his left hand. “Lead on,” he says.</p><p>The press are indeed out in force on the court steps. Foggy fields their questions as well as he knows how and gets them out of there and into a cab. It’s only when they’re driving away he realises Karen Page had not asked any questions, and he wondered about that.</p><p>They say goodbye in the cab. Foggy kind of wants to come upstairs with Murdock, make sure he’s okay, but he realises the other man would not respond well to the offer, however well-meant. So he repeats the dinner invitation, and watches as his now-former client vanishes inside his building, and then he gives the cab driver his own address and goes home.</p><p>Apart from various people coming by his office to congratulate him, Foggy does not enjoy the next few days. He has way too much work to catch up on, and as his job seems to be safe, he kind of needs to do the catching up. He submerges himself until Friday, when he remembers he was going to invite Karen Page to dinner as well as Murdock. He texts her, and receives a reply within minutes accepting the invitation. Then he remembers he needs to send Murdock his address, so he does that too, and gets back a brief “see you tomorrow” in reply half an hour later.</p><p>On the way home from work he and Marci go grocery shopping. Foggy can’t decide what they should serve, but Marci grabs ingredients for a simple pasta dish, going for organic where she can, adds red wine, and says she’ll pick up a cake from the bakery near their flat for dessert. Not for the first time, Foggy is devoutly grateful for his girlfriend’s common sense and decisiveness.</p><p>As Saturday evening approaches he gets increasingly nervous. He’s worried that Murdock just won’t show, or that Karen Page will treat the evening like an interview, and he’s starting to wish he hadn’t invited both of them at once. Marci, wielding pans in the kitchen, hands him a glass of wine and tells him to stop stressing.</p><p>Page is the first to show up, bearing a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. She admires the view from the apartment windows and makes small talk with Marci as they wait for Murdock.</p><p>He does show up, arriving only 10 minutes after Page and wearing the same suit he’d worn in court, only without a tie. He holds out yet another bottle of wine.</p><p>“I’m told it’s merlot,” he says, as Foggy takes the bottle.</p><p>“I can confirm it is merlot,” Foggy agrees, checking the label. “Come in.”</p><p>Murdock folds up his cane as he comes through the door but then pauses. “Could you just sketch out the apartment layout for me?” he asks.</p><p>“Uh, right,” says Foggy. “You’re basically in the lounge, sofas at your, er, nine o’clock and three o’clock. Kitchen straight through at 12 o’clock. Bathroom is on your right.” He looks about him. “Coffee table between the sofas, don’t trip over it.”</p><p>Murdock does his head-tilt thing and nods. “Sure. Thanks.” Then he turns to where Karen Page is hovering, and says, “you must be Karen, right?”</p><p>She nods, blushes, comes forward and holds out her hand, saying, “yeah, I’m Karen. Nice to meet you, finally.”</p><p>He takes her hand and shakes it. “Likewise. I, erm, read your stuff. Only this week, when I got my laptop back up and running. It was good.”</p><p>Page, if possible, blushes even more, and Foggy grins to himself. “Drinks, guys?” he asks, opening Murdock’s merlot and pouring them all a glass as Marci comes through from the kitchen and introduces herself, accurately, as Foggy’s better half.</p><p>Foggy takes the opportunity to have a good look at Murdock and try to work out if he’s been out Daredevilling since the verdict. Murdock seems to know he’s under scrutiny, because he moves away from Marci and Page and towards Foggy.</p><p>“I went out last night,” he says, “just to see what things were like.” He turns his hands over to show Foggy a pair of very slightly bruised knuckles. “It was pretty quiet, actually.”</p><p>“Are you a mind-reader or something?” Foggy asks.</p><p>“No, but it’s usually easy to tell if someone’s watching you,” Murdock replies, shrugging. “And I got to know the way you think and move pretty well over the last few weeks. It’s okay, Foggy, I get it – you don’t want to get someone off assault charges only to have them thrown straight back into custody.”</p><p>Foggy shakes his head. “That’s not it,” he says. “I don’t want to get someone off assault charges only for him to become the target of Hell’s Kitchen’s criminal element. They know who you are now.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Murdock drinks a swallow of wine. “But I don’t think that will really matter. I just need to stay out of the cops’ way better.” He gives Foggy a half-smile. “And, you know, I guess I care a little more about that now than I did.”</p><p>Foggy perches on the arm of the sofa. “Sit down, Matt,” he invites. “What about the rest of your life?”</p><p>Murdock’s face is carefully blank. “Work?”</p><p>“Yeah, work,” says Foggy. “Tutoring.”</p><p>Murdock makes a show of feeling out the sofa and sitting down as Foggy has suggested, before replying. “Well, you know, when you’re … absent … for a while, people find other tutors,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to advertise again. It’s fine. I did it before, I can do it again.”</p><p>“If you’re short of cash…” Foggy tries, but Murdock shakes his head.</p><p>“I have enough. I don’t live a very lavish lifestyle.” He raises red-shaded eyes to Foggy. “And I haven’t paid you yet.”</p><p>“That can wait,” Foggy says. “Seriously.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Murdock says. “But Foggy, I don’t want charity. I will pay you.”</p><p>Foggy waves a hand. “I know. I’m not offering charity. Do you have any idea how many clients are overdue fees? Your case literally just finished. We can wait a few weeks. Longer, if necessary.”</p><p>“I’m still chasing fees from a divorce case I did last year,” Marci puts in. “Guys, dinner’s ready.”</p><p>They move to the dining table and there is the fluster of choosing seats, sitting down, pouring more wine and serving salad, which takes away some of the awkwardness of the conversation about money. When they all start eating, Murdock takes a careful bite and then smiles broadly at Marci. “This is excellent,” he compliments her.</p><p>“Foggy told me you were fussy about ingredients,” Marci said, “so we tried to buy decent stuff. As much as the grocery store had to offer, anyway.”</p><p>“It’s good,” Murdock says. “Really good. Thanks.”</p><p>“It’s delicious,” Page adds. “So, Matt – did you really read my stuff?”</p><p>“Technically, I listened to it,” Murdock says, “but yeah. You write well, Miss Page.”</p><p>“Karen. Please. Really?”</p><p>Foggy looks between them, and raises an eyebrow at Marci, who grins back at him and raises her glass in return.</p><p>“How did you get to be writing for the <em>Bulletin</em>?” Murdock asks.</p><p>“Um.” Page drinks wine, and puts a mouthful of pasta into her mouth. “Well. You, well, saved me. I mean, Daredevil saved me.”</p><p>She tells the story, and Murdock looks thoughtful. “I thought you seemed familiar. That’s why.” He shoots Page a lopsided, charming smile. “Doesn’t make you a terribly impartial reporter though, surely?”</p><p>Page blushes and looks down at her plate; Marci raises an eyebrow at Foggy.</p><p>“There’s no rule against journalists having opinions,” Page argues, recovering herself, “we’re just supposed to be impartial in our reporting. Stick to the facts. And the facts show that Daredevil out there is a good thing.”</p><p>“I’ll drink to that,” says Foggy, raising his glass. The rest of them copy him, and the conversation turns to lighter things – the music they all enjoy, Marci and Foggy’s vacation plans, Page’s childhood in Vermont. Murdock does not say very much, but as far as Foggy can tell, he seems to be relaxed and enjoying himself.</p><p>Eventually, after they have finished eating and another two bottles of wine are empty, Page says she ought to go. Murdock immediately offers to accompany her, and they leave together.</p><p>Marci flops on to the sofa and Foggy joins her. “Excellent matchmaking, Foggy bear,” she says, smoothing his hair.</p><p>“I don’t think it was particularly hard,” Foggy says. “At least, I know Karen’s got it bad for Matt. Still not sure what he thinks of her.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what he thinks of anything,” Marci says. “He’s got the charm thing down, but it’s pretty hard to tell what he’s thinking, most of the time.”</p><p>Foggy twists to look at her. “Did you like him?” he asks. He wants Marci to like Matt. He’s suddenly realising that he’d quite like Matt Murdock to still feature in his life.</p><p>Marci nods. “Yeah. I did. And Karen. I liked them both. But you have good taste in people, Foggy.” She sighs, and forces herself to her feet. “Washing up. C’mon.”</p><p>The next day there are texts from both Murdock and Page, thanking Foggy and Marci for dinner. Foggy really wants to ask both of them what happened after they left, but heroically refrains.</p><p>He is absorbed in work for the first part of the following week, but Page texts halfway through with a cryptic “check the <em>Bulletin</em> tomorrow!” message. And then Foggy is disturbed again when his phone rings; it’s Brett Mahoney.</p><p>Foggy leans back in his chair. “Hey Brett,” he says. “How’s the glamorous police life?”</p><p>“Haha,” says Mahoney. “Just thought you might be interested to know we got a delivery late last night: a wannabe rapist, dumped on the precinct doorstep with a busted nose, and a victim testifying how she got saved by Daredevil.”</p><p>“What did you do?” Foggy asks.</p><p>“Locked the guy up and took the girl’s statement,” Mahoney says. “If you mean, did we go round to Matt Murdock’s place and ask him where he was at 1am, no we did not. Most of us would rather he was out there. Most of us think he shouldn’t have been arrested to begin with.”</p><p>“Oh,” says Foggy. “Well, that’s good. And, I guess, thanks for sending the case my way.”</p><p>Mahoney grunts. “Pleasure. Anyhow, if you happen to be in touch with Murdock, tell him we’ll keep on ignoring him, but if he can stay out of our way it’d help both sides.”</p><p>“If I happen to speak to him, I’ll tell him,” Foggy says. “Thanks, Brett.”</p><p>They hang up, and Foggy finds himself grinning.</p><p>He forgets about Page’s message until he’s passing a newsstand on his way to the office the next day, and a splash headline on the front of the <em>Bulletin </em>catches his eye. ‘DAREDEVIL SPEAKS!’ it says, above the main news headline about the mayoral election race. Foggy buys a copy, and once at his desk, sits down to read.</p><p>It turns out that his matchmaking efforts did one thing: they got Karen Page her interview. Spread across pages 4 and 5 is a profile of Murdock. In many ways, it repeats elements of his testimony at the trial, but Page has skilfully drawn out her interviewee’s vulnerabilities and his strength in a sympathetic, engaging way. Foggy knows everything in the interview and he still reads it closely and with interest. It’s a piece which puts the reader firmly on Daredevil’s side.</p><p>He imagines Tower reading it, shakes his head, and emails both Page and Murdock to say how good he thinks it is. Page emails back a smiley face emoji; Murdock, much later in the day, sends a longer reply, admitting he’d been nervous agreeing to do the interview and about his worry of putting himself in the public eye.</p><p>“I thought about asking you for advice,” he writes, “but you’ve done so much already. I trusted Karen to be fair, and I think she was.”</p><p>Foggy sends a quick reply agreeing it was a fair piece, and then the phone rings and he’s deep in the intricacies of a particularly bitchy high-net worth divorce he’s working on. He works late that night, and gets in early the next day, and is only interrupted by a call from Jessica Jones mid-afternoon.</p><p>“Got your check,” she says, without preamble. Foggy had paid her her fees the previous week. “Look, I have some info Murdock might want, on that Wilson Fisk guy he was hung up about. You got his number?”</p><p>“I can send it to you,” Foggy says. He’d pretty much forgotten about Fisk, but he has a feeling Murdock hasn’t.</p><p>“Thanks.” Jones hangs up, and Foggy texts her Murdock’s number and gets back to the divorce.</p><p>He has no reason to contact Murdock for the rest of the week or the weekend. He and Marci go to Governor’s Island, and meet friends for dinner, and see an exhibition at the Guggenheim. It’s normal. It’s safe, and secure, and Foggy wonders occasionally why it feels like something’s missing from his life.</p><p>On the following Friday there’s a Nelson family gathering at the deli. Foggy goes along like a dutiful son; eats and drinks and talks with his parents and his aunts and uncles and cousins and his brother. When he leaves he feels like he needs some fresh air, so instead of hailing a cab straight away he strolls along the street a bit. He’s interrupted by a gentle thud behind him, and a soft cough. Turning, he starts at the sight of a lithe, black-clad figure in the shadows cast by a building.</p><p>“Foggy.”</p><p>It’s Murdock – of course it’s Murdock, Foggy tells himself, as he takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He comes over to the other man, who draws him into a nearby alley.</p><p>“Matt – how did you know I was in Hell’s Kitchen?” he asks.</p><p>Murdock pushes his mask up. There’s a small cut on his left eyebrow. “Heard you,” he says. “Thought I’d say hi.”</p><p>“Hi,” Foggy says. “No, wait. How are you? Is everything okay? Did Jessica check in?”</p><p>“Yeah, Jessica checked in,” Murdock confirms. “It’s good. I’m good.”</p><p>“I can’t tell if you’re lying,” Foggy says.</p><p>“I’m not lying.”</p><p>Foggy looks at him, properly looks; apart from the cut, Murdock seems to be in one piece, there are no bags under his eyes and his stance is relaxed and confident. “Hmm,” he says, critically.</p><p>“I wondered,” Murdock says, “if you fancied catching up over a drink, some time. There’s this bar … it’s nothing special, but it’s very Hell’s Kitchen.”</p><p>“Yeah,” replies Foggy, something in his heart warming, “yeah, I’d like that.”</p><p>“Next week?” Murdock says.</p><p>“Tomorrow?” Foggy suggests. “Marci’s got a bachelorette party. Unless you need to Daredevil.”</p><p>Murdock smiles, a proper, broad, open smile, and shakes his head. “I can take a break. Bar’s called Josie’s. 9th and 48th. See you there at 7?”</p><p>“It’s a date,” Foggy says. “Well, you know.”</p><p>Grinning again, Murdock pulls his mask down and is away, using a handy dumpster to launch himself at a drainpipe and shimmying quickly up it towards the rooftops.</p><p>Back in Hell’s Kitchen the following night, Foggy reflects it’s been years since he spent so much time in the district he grew up in. Coming back, he can see the changes – the move towards gentrification, towards the refurbishment and rebuilding of apartment blocks and fancier shops and bars. But, as he enters Josie’s Bar, he also realises that the essence of the Kitchen hasn’t really left it. It’s still a place of grit and contrasts, and it’s still where he really belongs.</p><p>Murdock is already in the bar, perched on a stool at a high table with two bottles of beer open in front of him. He sits up as Foggy enters, and smiles that warm smile again. “You came,” he says.</p><p>“Of course I came,” Foggy assures him, taking a seat and a beer. “Why would I not?”</p><p>“Something might have come up,” Murdock shrugs.</p><p>“In which case I’d have called,” says Foggy, horrified. “I’m not such a dick as to leave a friend hanging.” He catches the look on Murdock’s face, and adds, “I hope we’re friends?”</p><p>“I hope so,” Murdock agrees. “I’d like that.”</p><p>Foggy raises his beer bottle. “To friendship,” he declares. “Now, tell me about how you found this place, because it is kinda awful and brilliant at the same time.”</p><p>“Don’t let Josie hear you say that,” Murdock says, and launches into a story of having no money and needing a drink. Foggy listens, and prompts, and laughs, and buys another round.</p><p>They wander out of the bar much, much later. Foggy has a hazy idea that he’s promised to do some pro bono work for the unsmiling eponymous owner. Murdock is holding Foggy’s arm lightly as he taps his cane along the sidewalk, and Foggy is filled with the joy of booze and companionship.</p><p>“Hey, Matt,” he says.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I’m glad, you know, that Brett called me that day they arrested you. I wish I’d got to know you at school, but we can’t turn back the clock. Let’s just keep it running forwards, as buddies, not a lawyer and a client.”</p><p>“You’re drunk,” Murdock says.</p><p>“But true,” Foggy insists. “Let’s do this again. Come to dinner again. Keep me updated how things go with Karen.”</p><p>Murdock blushes red to match his shades. “Nothing’s going on with Karen,” he says.</p><p>“Even I can tell that’s a lie,” Foggy returns. “What do you say? Murdock and Nelson, the Kitchen boys made good.”</p><p>“Nelson and Murdock,” Murdock says. “Sounds better. And I’m not sure I’m made good, yet, but I’m working on it.” He stops walking and disengages his arm. “My stop.”</p><p>Foggy reaches out and wraps Murdock in a brief hug. Murdock tenses for a split second, then relaxes into it and even pats Foggy’s back in return. “See you around,” he says, and adds, with a grin, “buddy.”</p><p>They part, and turn to go their separate ways, but Foggy is pretty sure that the evening is the first of many. Nelson and Murdock: it just sounds right.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I thought I was going to get this done about a fortnight ago but it wouldn't resolve itself, and then I remembered I'd brought Fisk into it and hadn't wrapped him up. In the end, getting that strand properly finished wasn't working either so I sort of tied it off open-ended. What mattered to the fic was really Matt and Foggy and I hope I did them justice. </p><p>Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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